
Book_+4-L| „ 






a Little ©bob 



OF 



WESTERN VERSE 



^.- 



BY EUGENE FIELD. 



Eittle 53oak of 

Profitable Tales, 

Eittic 23ook of 

Western Verse, 

*#* Each, I vol., i6mo, 1^1.25. 



PROPERTY Of THE 
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF LABOR. 

a tittle 15006 

OF 

WESTERN VERSE 



BY 



EUGENE FIELD 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1891 






Copyright^ i88g 
By Eugene Field 



©niicrsita Prf0«: 
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



TO 

MARY FIELD FRENCH. 



A dyhig mother gave to you 

Her child a ma?iy years ago ; 
How in your gracious love he grew, 

You know, dear, patient heart, you know. 

The mother'' s child you fostered then 
Salutes you now and bids you take 

These little children of his pen 
And love them for the author'' s sake. 

To you I dedicate this book, 
And, as you read it line by line, 

Upon its faults as k'lndly look 
As you have always looked on mine. 

Tardy the offering is and weak ; — 

Yet were I happy if I knew 
These children had the power to speak 

My love and gratitude to you. 

E. F. 



Go^ little book ; and if an one would speak thee ill, let him 

bethink him that thou art the child of 

one who loves thee well. 



t^t Contents^ of tljis? ilittle llBoofe* 



Page 

Casey's Table d'Hote i 

Our Lady of the Mine 69 

The Conversazzhyony 151 

Prof. Vere de Blaw 161 

Marthy's Younkit 173 

Old English Lullaby 16 

" LoLLYBY, Lolly, Lollvby " 27 

Orkney Lullaby 34 

Lullaby : By the Sea yg 

Cornish Lullaby 87 

Norse Lullaby 92 

Sicilian Lullaby 104 

Japanese Lullaby 113 

Little Croodlin-Doo 125 

Dutch Lullaby 128 

Child and Mother 149 

Medieval Eventide Song 171 

Christmas Treasures 62 

Christmas Hymn in 

Chrystmasse of Olde 120 



X CONTENTS OF THIS LITTLE BOOK. 

Page 
Our Two Opinions 31 

Apple-Pie and Cheese 42 

"GooD-BY — God bless you!" 115 



Hi-Spy 



124 



Long Ago 196 

Little Boy Blue 8 

The Lyttel Boy 20 

Krinken 46 

To A Usurper 7; 

AiLSiE, MY Bairn 85 

Some Time 201 

Madge: ye Hoyden 10 

Death of Robin Hood 24 

To Robin Goodfellow 40 

YvYTOT 189 

The Divine Lullaby 57 

In the Firelight 59 

The Twenty-third Psalm 106 

At the Door 122 

The Bibliomaniac's Prayer 18 

De Amicitiis 65 

The Bibliomaniac's Bride 108 

The Truth about Horace 22 

Lydia and Horace reconciled 29 

Horace HI. 13 ("Fountain of Bandusia") . . 55 



CONTENTS OF THIS LITTLE BOOK. Xl 

Page 

Horace to Melpomene 83 

Chaucerian Paraphrase of Horace 91 

Horace to Pyrrha 105 

Horace to Phyllis 118 

The " Happy Isles " of Horace 126 

Little Mack 36 

Mr. Dana, of the New York Sun 96 

To A Soubrette 198 

B^ranger's " Broken Fiddle" 49 

Heine's "Widow, or Daughter?" 61 

Uhland's "Three Cavaliers" 89 

Beranger's "My Last Song, perhaps" ... 94 

Hugo's "Flower to Butterfly" 131 

Bi^ranger's " Ma Vocation " 147 

The Little Peach 53 

A Proper Trewe Idyll of Camelot 133 

In Flanders c .... 179 

Our Biggest Fish 182 

Mother and Child 2>3 

The Wanderer 75 

Soldier, Maiden, and Flower 81 

Thirty-nine 186 



g tittle 33ook of mmnn Ferse- 



CASEY'S TABLE D'HOTE. 

/^H, them days on Red Hoss Mountain, when 

the skies wuz fair 'nd blue, 
When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks 

wuz brave 'nd true ! 
When the nights wuz crisp 'nd balmy, 'nd the camp 

wuz all astir, 
With the joints all throwed wide open 'nd no sheriff 

to demur ! 
Oh, them times on Red Hoss Mountain in the 

Rockies fur away, — 
There 's no sich place nor times like them as I kin 

find to-day ! 
What though the camp ^ez busted ? I seem to see 

it still 
A-lyin', like it loved it, on that big 'nd warty hill; 
I 



CASEV'S TABLE D'HOTE. 



And I feel a sort of yearnin' 'nd a chokin' in my 

throat 
When I think of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's 

tabble dote ! 

Wal, yes ; it 's true I struck it rich, but that don't 

cut a show 
When one is old 'nd feeble 'nd it 's nigh his time 

to go; 
The money that he 's got in bonds or carries to 

invest 
Don't figger with a codger who has lived a life 

out West; 
Us old chaps like to set around, away from folks 

'nd noise, 
'Nd think about the sights we seen and things we 

done when boys ; 
The which is why / love to set 'nd think of them 

old days 
When all us Western fellers got the Colorado 

craze, — 
And that is why I love to set around all day 'nd 

gloat 
On thoughts of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's 

tabble dote. 



CASEY'S TABLE D'HOTE. 



This Casey wuz an Irishman, — you 'd know it by 

his name 
And by the facial features appertainin' to the 

same. 
He 'd lived in many places 'nd had done a thousand 

things, 
From the noble art of actin' to the work of dealin' 

kings. 
But, somehow, had n't caught on ; so, driftin' with 

the rest, 
He drifted for a fortune to the undeveloped West, 
And he come to Red Hoss Mountain when the 

little camp wuz new. 
When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks 

wuz brave 'nd true ; 
And, havin' been a Stewart on a Mississippi boat, 
He opened up a caffy 'nd he run a tabble dote. 

The bar wuz long 'nd rangey, with a mirrer on the 

shelf, 
'Nd a pistol, so that Casey, when required, could 

help himself ; 
Down underneath there wuz a row of bottled beer 

'nd wine, 
'Nd a kag of Burbun whiskey of the run of '59 ; 



CASEV'S TABLE D'HOTE. 



Upon the walls wuz pictures of bosses 'nd of 

girls, — 
Not much on dress, perhaps, but strong on records 

'nd on curls ! 
The which had been identified with Casey in the 

past, — 
The hosses 'nd the girls, I mean, — and both wuz 

mighty fast ! 
But all these fine attractions wuz of precious little 

note 
By the side of what wuz offered at Casey's tabble 

dote. 

There wuz half-a-dozen tables altogether in the 

place, 
And the tax you had to pay upon your vittles wuz a 

case ; 
The boardin'-houses in the camp protested 't wuz a 

shame 
To patronize a robber, which this Casey wuz the 

same! 
They said a case was robbery to tax for ary 

meal; 
But Casey tended strictly to his biz, 'nd let 'em 

squeal ; 



CASEY'S TABLE D'HOTE. 5 

And presently the boardin'-houses all began to bust, 
While Casey kept on sawin' wood 'nd layin' in the 

dust; 
And oricet a trav'lin' editor from Denver City wrote 
A piece back to his paper, puffin' Casey's tabble 

dote. 

A tabble dote is different from orderin' aller cart : 
In one case you git all there is, in t'' other, only part/ 
And Casey's tabble dote began in French, — as all 

begin, — 
And Casey's ended with the same, which is to say, 

with " vin ; " 
But in between wuz every kind of reptile, bird, 'nd 

beast. 
The same like you can git in high-toned restauraws 

down east ; 
'Nd windin' up wuz cake or pie, with coffee demy 

tass, 
Or, sometimes, floatin' Ireland in a soothin' kind of 

sass 
That left a sort of pleasant ticklin' in a feller's 

throat, 
'Nd made him hanker after more of Casey's tabble 

dote. 



CASEY'S TABLE D'HOTE. 



The very recollection of them puddin's 'nd them 

pies 
Brings a yearnin' to my buzzum 'nd the water to 

my eyes ; 
'Nd seems like cookin' nowadays aint what it used 

to be 
In camp on Red Hoss Mountain in that year of 

'63; 
But, maybe, it is better, 'nd, maybe, I 'm to 

blame — 
I 'd like to be a-livin' in the mountains jest the 

same — 
I 'd like to live that life again when skies wuz fair 

'nd blue, 
When things wuz run wide open 'nd men wuz brave 

'nd true ; 
When brawny arms the flinty ribs of Red Hoss 

Mountain smote 
For wherewithal to pay the price of Casey's tabble 

dote. 

And you, O cherished brother, a-sleepin' way out 

west. 
With Red Hoss Mountain huggin' you close to its 

lovin' breast, — 



C A SET'S TABLE D'HOTE. 



Oh, do you dream in your last sleep of how we use 

to do, 
Of how we worked our little claims together, me 'nd 

you? 
Why, when I saw you last a smile wuz restin' on 

your face, 
Like you wuz glad to sleep forever in that lonely 

place ; 
And so you wuz, 'nd I 'd be, too, if I wuz sleepin' 

so. 
But, bein' how a brother's love aint for the world 

to know. 
Whenever I 've this heartache 'nd this chokin' in 

my throat, 
I lay it all to thinkin' of Casey's tabble dote. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 

npHE little toy dog is covered with dust, 

But sturdy and stanch he stands ; 
And the little toy soldier is red with rust, 

And his musket moulds in his hands. 
Time was when the little toy dog was new 

And the soldier was passing fair, 
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue 

Kissed them and put them there. 

" Now, don't you go till I come," he said, 

" And don't you make any noise ! " 
So toddling off to his trundle-bed 

He dreamt of the pretty toys. 
And as he was dreaming, an angel song 

Awakened our Little Boy Blue, — 
Oh, the years are many, the years are long, 

But the little toy friends are true. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 



Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, 

Each in the same old place, 
Awaiting the touch of a little hand, 

The smile of a little face. 
And they wonder, as waiting these long years 
through. 

In the dust of that little chair. 
What has become of our Little Boy Blue 

Since he kissed them and put them there. 



lO MADGE: YE HOYDEN. 



MADGE: YE HOYDEN. 



A T Madge, ye hoyden, gossips scofft, 

Ffor that a romping wench was shee- 
" Now marke this rede," they bade her oft, 

" Forsooken sholde your folly bee ! " 
But Madge, ye hoyden, laught & cried, 

" Oho, oho," in girlish glee. 
And noe thing mo replied. 

II. 

No griffe she had nor knew no care, 
But gayly rompit all dales long. 

And, like ye brooke that everywhere 
Goes jinking with a gladsome song, 

Shee danct and songe from morn till night, 
Her gentil harte did know no wrong. 

Nor did she none despight. 



MADGE: VE NOV DEN. 



III. 
Sir Tomas from his noblesse halle 

Did trend his path a somer's daye, 
And to ye hoyden he did call 

And these ffull evill words did say : 
" O wolde you weare a silken gown 

And binde your haire with ribands gay ? 
Then come with me to town ! " 

IV. 

But Madge, ye hoyden, shoke her head, — 
*' I 'le be no lemman unto thee 

For all your golde and gownes," shee said, 
" ffor Robin hath bespoken mee." 

Then ben Sir Tomas sore despight, 
And back unto his hall went hee 

With face as ashen white. 

V. 

" O Robin, wilt thou wed this girl, 
Whenas she is so vaine a sprite ? " 

So spak ffull many an envious churle 
Unto that curteyse countrie wight. 

But Robin did not pay no heede; 
And they ben wed a somer night 

& danct upon ye meade. 



12 MADGE: VE HOVDEiV. 

VI. 

Then scarse ben past a yeare & daye 
Whan Robin toke unto his bed, 

And long, long time therein he lay. 
Nor colde not work to earn his bread ; 

in soche an houre, whan times ben sore, 
Sr. Tomas came with haughtie tread 

& knockit at ye doore. 

VII. 

Saies : " Madge, ye hoyden, do you know 
how that you once despighted me ? 

But He forgiff an you will go 
my swete harte lady ffor to bee ! " 

But Madge, ye hoyden, heard noe more, — 
straightway upon her heele turnt shee, 

& shote ye cottage doore. 

VIII. 

Soe Madge, ye hoyden, did her parte 
whiles that ye years did come and go ; 

't was somer allwais in her harte, 

tho' winter strewed her head with snowe. 

She toilt and span thro' all those years 
nor bid repine that it ben soe, 

nor never shad noe teares. 



MADGE: YE HOYDEN. 1 3 



IX. 

Whiles Robin lay within his bed, 

A divell came and whispered lowe, — 

" Giff you will doe my will," he said, 

" None more of sickness you shall knowe ! " 

Ye which gave joy to Robin's soul — 
Sales Robin : " Divell, be it soe, 

an that you make me whoale ! " 



X. 



That day, upp rising ffrom his bed, 
Quoth Robin : " I am well again ! " 

& backe he came as from ye dead, 
«& he ben mickle blithe as when 

he wooed his doxy long ago ; 
& Madge did make ado & then 

Her teares ffor joy did flowe. 

XI. 

Then came that hell-bom cloven thing ■ 
Sales : " Robin, I do claim your life, 

and I hencefoorth shall be your king, 
and you shall do my evill strife. 

Look round about and you shall see 
sr. Tomas' young and ffoolish wiff e ■ 

a comely dame is shee ! " 



14 MADGE: VE HOYDEN. 

XII. 

Ye divell had him in his power, 
and not colde Robin say thereto ; 

Soe Robin from that very houre 
did what that divell bade him do ; 

He wooed and dipt, and on a daye 
sr. Tomas' wife and Robin flewe 

a many leagues away. 

XIII. 

Sir Tomas ben wood wroth and swore, 
And sometime strode thro' leaf & brake 

and knockit at ye cottage door 

and thus to Madge, ye hoyden, spake : 

Sales, " I wolde have you ffor mine own, 
So come with mee & bee my make, 

syn tother birds ben flown." 

XIV. 

But Madge, ye hoyden, bade him noe ; 

Sales : " Robin is my swete harte still, 
And, tho' he doth despight me soe, 

I mean to do him good for ill. 
So goe. Sir Tomas, goe your way ; 

ffor whiles I bee on live I will 
ffor Robin's coming pray ! " 



MADGE: VE HOYDEN. 1 5 

XV. 

Soe Madge, ye hoyden, kneelt & prayed 
that Godde sholde send her Robin backe. 

And tho' ye folke vast scoffing made, 

and tho' ye worlde ben colde and blacke, 

And tho', as moneths dragged away, 
ye hoyden's harte ben like to crack 

With griff, she still did praye. 

XVI. 

Sicke of that divell's damned charmes, 

Aback did Robin come at last. 
And Madge, ye hoyden, sprad her arms 

and gave a cry and held him fast ; 
And as she clong to him and cried, 

her patient harte with joy did brast, 
& Madge, ye hoyden, died. 



1 6 OLD ENGLISH LULLABY. 



OLD ENGLISH LULLABY. 

TJI USH, bonnie, dinna greit ; 

Moder will rocke her sweete, 

Balow, my boy ! 
When that his toile ben done, 
Daddie will come anone, — 
Hush thee, my lyttel one; 

Balow, my boy ! 

Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce 
Fayries will come to daunce, — 

Balow, my boy ! 
Oft hath thy moder seene 
Moonlight and mirkland queene 
Daunce on thy slumbering een, — 

Balow, my boy ! 

Then droned a bomblebee 
Saftly this songe to thee : 
" Balow, my boy ! " 



OLD ENGLISH LULLABY. I 7 

And a wee heather bell, 
Pluckt from a fayry dell, 
Chimed thee this rune hersell : 
" Balow, my boy ! " 

Soe, bonnie, dinna greit ; 
Moder doth rock her sweete, — 

Balow, my boy ! 
Give mee thy lyttel hand, 
Moder will hold it and 
Lead thee to balow land, — 

Balow, my boy ! 



THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER. 



THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER. 

T/'EEP me, I pray, in wisdom's way 
That I may truths eternal seek ; 
I need protecting care to-day, — 

My purse is light, my flesh is weak. 
So banish from my erring heart 

All baleful appetites and hints 
Of Satan's fascinating art, 

Of first editions, and of prints. 
Direct me in some godly walk 

Which leads away from bookish strife, 
That I with pious deed and talk 

May extra-illustrate my life. 

But if, O Lord, it pleaseth Thee 
To keep me in temptation's way, 

I humbly ask that I may be 
Most notably beset to-day ; 

Let my temptation be a book, 
Which I shall purchase, hold, and keep, 



THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S PRAYER. 1 9 

Whereon when other men shall look, 
They '11 wail to know I got it cheap. 

Oh, let it such a volume be 

As in rare copperplates abounds, 

Large paper, clean, and fair to see. 
Uncut, unique, unknown to Lowndes. 



20 THE LYTTEL BOY. 



THE LYTTEL BOY. 

O OMETIME there ben a lyttel boy 

That wolde not renne and play, 
And helpless like that litde tyke 

Ben allwais in the way. 
" Goe, make you merrie with the rest," 

His weary moder cried ; 
But with a frown he catcht her gown 

And hong untill her side. 

That boy did love his moder well, 

Which spake him faire, I ween ; 
He loved to stand and hold her hand 

And ken her with his een ; 
His cosset bleated in the croft, 

His toys unheeded lay, — 
He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, 

Ben allwais in the way. 



THE LYTTEL BOY. 21 



Godde loveth children and doth gird 

His throne with soche as these, 
And He doth smile in plaisaunce while 

They cluster at His knees ; 
And sometime, when He looked on earth 

And watched the bairns at play, 
He kenned with joy a lyttel boy 

Ben allwais in the way. 

And then a moder felt her heart 

How that it ben to-torne, — 
She kissed eche day till she ben gray 

The shoon he use to worn ; 
No bairn let hold untill her gown 

Nor played upon the floore, — 
Godde's was the joy ; a lyttel boy 

Ben in the way no more ! 



THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE. 



THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE. 

T T is very aggravating 

To hear the solemn prating 
Of the fossils who are stating 

That old Horace was a prude ; 
When we know that with the ladies 
He was always raising Hades, 
And with many an escapade his 
Best productions are imbued. 

There 's really not much harm in a 
Large number of his carmina, 
But these people find alarm in a 

Few records of his acts ; 
So they 'd squelch the muse caloric, 
And to students sophomoric 
They 'd present as metaphoric 

What old Horace meant for facts. 



THE TRUTH ABOUT HORACE. 23 

We have always thought 'em lazy ; 
Now we adjudge 'em crazy ! 
Why, Horace was a daisy 

That was very much alive ! 
And the wisest of us know him 
As his Lydia verses show him, — 
Go, read that virile poem, — 

It is No. 25. 

He was a very owl, sir. 

And starting out to prowl, sir. 

You bet he made Rome howl, sir, 

Until he filled his date ; 
With a massic-laden ditty 
And a classic maiden pretty 
He painted up the city, 

And Maecenas paid the freight ! 



24 THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD. 



THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD. 

r^ IVE me my bow," said Robin Hood, 

" An arrow give to me ; 
And where 't is shot mark thou that spot, 
For there my grave shall be." 

Then Little John did make no sign. 

And not a word he spake ; 
But he smiled, altho' with mickle woe 

His heart was like to break. 

He raised his master in his arms. 

And set him on his knee ; 
And Robin's eyes beheld the skies. 

The shaws, the greenwood tree. 

The brook was babbling as of old, 
The birds sang full and clear, 

And the wild-flowers gay like a carpet lay 
In the path of the timid deer. 



THE DEA TH OF ROBIN HOOD. 25 

" O Little John," said Robin Hood, 

" Meseemeth now to be 
Standing with you so stanch and true 

Under the greenwood tree. 

" And all around I hear the sound 

Of Sherwood long ago, 
And my merry men come back again, — 

You know, sweet friend, you know ! 

" Now mark this arrow ; where it falls. 

When I am dead dig deep, 
And bury me there in the greenwood where 

I would forever sleep." 

He twanged his bow. Upon its course 

The clothyard arrow sped, 
And when it fell in yonder dell, 

Brave Robin Hood was dead. 

The sheriff sleeps in a marble vault, 

The king in a shroud of gold ; 
And upon the air with a chanted pray'r 

Mingles the mock of mould. 



26 THE DEA TH OF ROBIN HOOD- 

But the deer draw to the shady pool, 

The birds sing blithe and free, 
And the wild-flow'rs bloom o'er a hidden tomb 

Under the greenwood tree. 



'^LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLY BY:' 27 



"LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY." 

T AST night, whiles that the curfew bell ben 

ringing, 
I heard a moder to her dearie singing 

" Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." 
And presently that chylde did cease hys weeping, 
And on his moder's breast did fall a-sleeping, 
To"lolly, lolly, lollyby." 

Faire ben the chylde unto his moder clinging, 
Butfairer yet the moder's gentle singing, — 

" Lollyby, lolly, lollyby." 
And angels came and kisst the dearie smiling 
In dreems while him hys moder ben beguihng 

With "lolly, lolly, lollyby!" 

Then to my harte sales I, " Oh, that thy beating 
Colde be assuaged by some swete voice repeating 
' Lollyby, lolly, lollyby ; ' 



28 ''LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY." 

That like this lyttel chylde I, too, ben sleeping 
With plaisaunt phantasies about me creeping, 
To ' lolly, lolly, lollyby ! ' " 

Sometime — mayhap when curfew bells are ring- 
ing— 
A weary harte shall heare straunge voices singing, 

" Lollyby, lolly, lollyby ; " 
Sometime, mayhap, with Chrysts love round me 

streaming, 
I shall be lulled into eternal dreeming 
With » lolly, lolly, lollyby." 



HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED. 29 



HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED. 

HORACE. 

"Y/^ZHEN you were mine in auld lang syne, 

And when none else your charms might ogle, 
I '11 not deny. 
Fair nymph, that I 
Was happier than a Persian mogul. 

LYDIA. 

Before she came — that rival flame ! — 
(Was ever female creature sillier ?) 
In those good times, 
Bepraised in rhymes, 
I was more famed than Mother Ilia ! 

HORACE. 

Chloe of Thrace ! With what a grace 
Does she at song or harp employ her ! 

I 'd gladly die 

If only I 
Might live forever to enjoy her ! 



so HORACE AND LYDIA RECONCILED. 

LYDIA. 

My Sybaris so noble is 
That, by the gods ! I love him madly — 
That I might save 
Him from the grave 
I 'd give my life, and give it gladly ! 

HORACE. 

What if ma belle from favor fell. 

And I made up my mind to shake her, 
Would Lydia, then. 
Come back again 
And to her quondam flame betake her ? 

LYDIA. 

My other beau should surely go. 
And you alone should find me gracious ; 
For no one slings 
Such odes and things 
As does the lauriger -Horatius ! 



OUR TWO OPINIONS. 3^ 



OUR TWO OPINIONS. 

T T S two wuz boys when we fell out, — 

Nigh to the age uv my youngest now ; 
Don't rec'lect what 'twuz about, 

Some small deeff'rence, I '11 allow. 
Lived next neighbors twenty years, 

A-hatin' each other, me 'nd Jim, — 
He havin' his opinyin uv me, 

'Nd / havin' my opinyin uv him. 

Grew up together 'nd would n't speak, 

Courted sisters, 'nd marr'd 'em, too ; 
'Tended same meetin'-house oncet a week, 

A-hatin' each other through 'nd through ! 
But when Abe Linkern asked the West 

F'r soldiers, we answered, — me 'nd Jim, - 
He havin' his opinyin uv 7ne, 

'Nd / havin' my opinyin uv him. 



OUR TIVO OPINIONS. 



But down in Tennessee one night 

Ther wuz sound uv firin' fur away, 
'Nd the sergeant allowed ther 'd be a fight 

With the Johnnie Rebs some time nex' day; 
'Nd as I wuz thinkin' uv Lizzie 'nd home 

Jim stood afore me, long nd 'slim, — 
He havin' Ids opinyin uv me^ 

'Nd / havin' my opinyin uv hiin. 

Seemed hke we knew there wuz goin' to be 

Serious trouble f'r me 'nd him ; 
Us two shuck hands, did Jim 'nd me, 

But never a word from me or Jim ! 
He went his way 'nd / went mi7ie^ 

'Nd into the battle's roar went we, — 
/ havin' my opinyin uv Jim, 

'Nd he havin' his opinyin uv me. 

Jim never come back from the war again, 

But I haint forgot that last, last night 
When, waitin' f'r orders, us two men 

Made up 'nd shuck hands, afore the fight. 
'Nd, after it all, it 's sooth in' to know 

That here / be 'nd yonder 's Jim, — 
He havin' his opinyin uv me^ 

'Nd / havin' my opinyin uv him. 



MOTHER AND CHILD. 't^'^ 



MOTHER AND CHILD. 

/^NE night a tiny dewdrop fell 
Into the bosom of a rose, — 
" Dear little one, I love thee well, 
Be ever here thy sweet repose ! " 

Seeing the rose with love bedight, 

The envious sky frowned dark, and then 

Sent forth a messenger of light 
And caught the dewdrop up again. 

" Oh, give me back my heavenly child, — 
My love ! " the rose in anguish cried ; 

Alas ! the sky triumphant smiled. 

And so the flower, heart-broken, died. 



34 ORKNEY LULLABY. 



ORKNEY LULLABY. 

A MOONBEAM floateth from the skies, 

Whispering, " Heigho, my dearie ! 
I would spin a web before your eyes, — 
A beautiful web of silver light, 
Wherein is many a wondrous sight 
Of a radiant garden leagues away. 
Where the softly tinkling lilies sway. 
And the snow-white lambkins are at play, — 
Heigho, my dearie ! " 

A brownie stealeth from the vine 

Singing, " Heigho, my dearie ! 
And will you hear this song of mine, — 
A song of the land of murk and mist 
Where bideth the bud the dew hath kisst ? 
Then let the moonbeam's web of light 
Be spun before thee silvery white, 
And I shall sing the livelong night, — 
Heigho, my dearie ! " 



ORKNEY LULLABY. 35 

The night wind speedeth from the sea, 

Murmuring, " Heigho, my dearie ! 

I bring a mariner's prayer for thee ; 

So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes, 

And the brownie sing thee lullabies ; 

But I shall rock thee to and fro, 

Kissing the brow he loveth So, 

And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow, — 
Heigho, my dearie ! " 



36 LITTLE MACK. 



LITTLE MACK. 

n^HIS talk about the journalists that run the East 
is bosh, 

We Ve got a Western editor that 's little, but, O 
gosh ! 

He lives here in Mizzoora where the people are so 
set 

In ante-bellum notions that they vote for Jackson 
yet; 

But the paper he is running makes the rusty fossils 
swear, — 

The smartest, likeliest paper that is printed any- 
where ! 

And, best of all, the paragraphs are pointed as a 
tack. 
And that 's because they emanate 
From little Mack. 

In architecture he is what you 'd call a chunky man, 
As if he 'd been constructed on the summer-cottage 
plan; 



LITTLE MACK. 37 



He has a nose like Bonaparte ; and round his mo- 
bile mouth 
Lies all the sensuous languor of the children of the 

South ; 
His dealings with reporters who affect a weekly bust 
Have given to his violet eyes a shadow of distrust ; 
In glorious abandon his brown hair wanders back 
From the grand Websterian forehead 
Of little Mack. 

No matter what the item is, if there 's an item in it, 
You bet your life he's on to it and nips it in a 

minute ! 
From multifarious nations, countries, monarchies, 

and lands, 
From Afric's sunny fountains and India's coral 

strands. 
From Greenland's icy mountains and Siloam's 

shady rills. 
He gathers in his telegrams, and Houser pays the 

bills; 
What though there be a dearth of news, he has a 

happy knack 

Of scraping up a lot of scoops. 
Does little Mack. 



SS LITTLE MACK. 



And learning ? Well he knows the folks of every 

tribe and age 
That ever played a part upon this . fleeting human 

stage ; 
His intellectual system 's so extensive and so greedy 
That, when it comes to records, he 's a walkin' cy- 

clopedy ; 
For having studied (and digested) all the books 

a-goin', 
It stands to reason he must know about all 's worth 

a-knowin' ! 
So when a politician with a record 's on the track, 
We 're apt to hear some history 
From little Mack. 

And when a fellow- journalist is broke and needs a 

twenty, 
Who 's alius ready to whack up a portion of his 

plenty ? 
Who 's alius got a wallet that 's as full of sordid 

gain 
As his heart is full of kindness and his head is full 

of brain ? 
Whose bowels of compassion will in-va-ri-a-bly 

move 



LITTLE MACK. 39 



Their owner to those courtesies which plainly, 

surely prove 
That he 's the kind of person that never does go 
back 

On a fellow that 's in trouble ? 
Why, little Mack ! 

I 've heard 'em tell of Dana, and of Bonner, and of 

Reid, 
Of Johnnie Cockerill, who, I '11 own, is very smart 

indeed ; 
Yet I don't care what their renown or influence 

may be, 
One metropolitan exchange is quite enough for me ! 
So keep your Danas, Bonners, Reids, your Cock- 

erills, and the rest, 
The woods is full of better men all through this 

woolly West; 
For all that sleek, pretentious, Eastern editorial 

pack 

We would n't swap the shadow of 
Our little Mack ! 



40 TO ROBIN GOODFELLOVV. 



TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 

T SEE you, Maister Bawsy-brown, 
Through yonder lattice creepin' ; 
You come for cream and to gar me dream, 

But you dinna find me sleepin'. 
The moonbeam, that upon the floor 

Wi' crickets ben a-jinkin', 
Now steals away fra' her bonnie play — 

Wi' a rosier blie, I 'm thinkin'. 

I saw you, Maister Bawsy-brown, 

When the blue bells went a-ringin' 
For the merrie fays o' the banks an' braes, 

And I kenned your bonnie singin' ; 
The gowans gave you honey sweets. 

And the posies on the heather 
Dript draughts o' dew for the faery crew 

That danct and sang together. 



TO ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 4 1 



But posie-bloom an' simmer-dew 

And ither sweets o' faery 
Cud na gae down wi' Bawsy-brown, 

Sae nigh to Maggie's dairy ! 
My pantry shelves, sae clean and white. 

Are set wi' cream and cheeses, — 
Gae, gin you will, an' take your fill 

Of whatsoever pleases. 

Then wave your wand aboon my een 

Until they close awearie, 
And the night be past sae sweet and fast 

Wi' dreamings o' my dearie. 
But pinch the wench in yonder room, 

For she 's na gude nor bonnie, — 
Her shelves be dust and her pans be rust, 

And she winkit at my Johnnie ! 



42 APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE. 



APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE. 

T^ULL many a sinful notion 

Conceived of foreign powers 
Has come across the ocean 

To harm this land of ours ; 
And heresies called fashions 

Have modesty effaced, 
And baleful, morbid passions 

Corrupt our native taste. 

tempora ! O mores ! 
What profanations these 

That seek to dim the glories 
Of apple-pie and cheese ! 

1 'm glad my education 

Enables me to stand 
Against the vile tem.ptation 

Held out on every hand ; 
Eschewing all the tittles 

With vanity replete, 



APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE. 43 

I 'm loyal to the victuals 

Our grandsires used to eat ! 
I 'm glad I Ve got three willing boys 

To hang around and tease 
Their mother for the filling joys 

Of apple-pie and cheese ! 

Your flavored creams and ices 

And your dainty angel-food 
Are mighty fine devices 

To regale the dainty dude ; 
Your terrapin and oysters, 

With wine to wash 'em down, 
Are just the thing for roisters 

When painting of the town ; 
No flippant, sugared notion 

Shall my appetite appease, 
Or bate my soul's devotion 

To apple-pie and cheese ! 



The pie my Julia makes me 
(God bless her Yankee ways !) 

On memory's pinions takes me 
To dear Green Mountain days ; 



44 APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE. 

And seems like I saw Mother 

Lean on the window-sill, 
A-handin' me and brother 

What she knows '11 keep us still ; 
And these feelings are so grateful, 

Says I, "Julia, if you please, 
I '11 take another plateful 

Of that apple-pie and cheese ! " 

And cheese ! No alien it, sir, 

That 's brought across the sea, — 
No Dutch antique, nor Switzer, 

Nor glutinous de Brie ; 
There's nothing I abhor so 

As mawmets of this ilk — 
Give me the harmless morceau 

That 's made of true-blue milk ! 
No matter what conditions 

Dyspeptic come to feaze, 
The best of all physicians 

Is apple-pie and cheese ! 

Though ribalds may decry 'em, 
For these twin boons we stand, 

Partaking thrice per diem 
Of their fulness out of hand ; 



APPLE-PIE AND CHEESE. 45 

No enervating fashion 

Shall cheat us of our right 
To gratify our passion 

With a mouthful at a bite ! 
We '11 cut it square or bias, 

Or any way we please, 
And faith shall justify us 

When we carve our pie and cheese ! 

De gustibus, 't is stated, 

Non disputandum est. 
Which meaneth, when translated, 

That all is for the best. 
So let the foolish choose 'em 

The vapid sweets of sin, 
I will not disabuse 'em 

Of the heresy they 're in; 
But I, when I undress me 

Each night, upon my knees 
Will ask the Lord to bless me 

With apple-pie and cheese ! 



46 K RINK EN. 



KRINKEN. 



T^RINKEN was a little child,— 

It was summer when he smiled. 
Oft the hoary sea and grim 
Stretched its white arms out to him, 
Calling, " Sun-child, come to me ; 
Let me warm my heart with thee ! " 
But the child heard not the sea, 
Calling, yearning evermore 
For the summer on the shore. 



Krinken on the beach one day 
Saw a maiden Nis at play ; 
On the pebbly beach she played 
In the summer Krinken made. 
Fair, and very fair, was she, 
Just a little child was he. 



K RINK EN. 47 



" Krinken," said the maiden Nis, 
" Let me have a little kiss, — 
Just a kiss, and go with me 
To the summer-lands that be 
Down within the silver sea." 



Krinken was a little child — 
By the maiden Nis beguiled, 
Hand in hand with her went he, 
And 'twas summer in the sea. 
And the hoary sea and grim 
To its bosom folded him — 
Clasped and kissed the little form, 
And the ocean's heart was warm. 



Now the sea calls out no more ; 
It is winter on the shore, — 
Winter where that little child 
Made sweet summer when he smiled; 
Though 't is summer on the sea 
Where with maiden Nis went he, — 
Summer, summer evermore, — 
It is winter on the shore. 
Winter, winter evermore. 



KRINKEN. 



Of the summer on the deep 
Come sweet visions in my sleep : 
His fair face lifts from the sea, 
His dear voice calls out to me, — 
These my dreams of summer be. 

Krinken was a little child, 
By the maiden Nis beguiled ; 
Oft the hoary sea and grim 
Reached its longing arms to him, 
Crying, " Sun-child, come to me; 
Let me warm my heart with thee I 
But the sea calls out no more ; 
It is winter on the shore, — 
Winter, cold and dark and wild ; 
Krinken was a little child, — 
It was summer when he smiled ; 
Down he went into the sea. 
And the winter bides with me. 
Just a little child was he. 



BERANGEWS ''BROKEN FIDDLE," 49 



BERANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE. 



I. 

'T^HERE, there, poor dog, my faithful friend, 

Pay you no heed unto my sorrow : 
But feast to-day while yet you may, — 
Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow ! 



II. 
" Give us a tune," the foemen cried, 

In one of their profane caprices ; 
I bade them " No " — they frowned, and, lo ! 

They dashed this innocent in pieces ! 



III. 
This fiddle was the village pride — 

The mirth of every fete enhancing; 
Its wizard art set every heart 
As well as every foot to dancing. 
4 



50 BERANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE V 

IV. 

How well the bridegroom knew its voice, 
As from its strings its song went gushing ! 

Nor long delayed the promised maid 
Equipped for bridal, coy and blushing. 



V. 

Why, it discoursed so merrily, 
It quickly banished all dejection ; 

And yet, when pressed, our priest confessed 
I played with pious circumspection. 



And though, in patriotic song, 

It was our guide, compatriot, teacher, 
I never thought the foe had wrought 

His fury on the helpless creature ! 



VII. 

But there, poor dog, my faithful friend, 
Pay you no heed unto my sorrow ; 

I prithee take this paltry cake, — 
Who knows but we shall starve to-morrow ! 



BERANGER'S ''BROKEN FIDDLED 5 I 

VIII. 

Ah, who shall lead the Sunday choir 

As this old fiddle used to do it ? 
Can vintage come, with this voice dumb 

That used to bid a welcome to it ? 



IX. 

It soothed the weary hours of toil, 
It brought forgetfulness to debtors ; 

Time and again from wretched men 
It struck oppression's galling fetters. 

X. 

No man could hear its voice, and hate ; 

It stayed the teardrop at its portal ; 
With that dear thing I was a king 

As never yet was monarch mortal ! 



XI. 

Now has the foe — the vandal foe — 

Struck from my hands their pride and glory ; 

There let it lie ! In vengeance, I 
Shall wield another weapon, gory ! 



$2 BERANGER'S "BROKEN FIDDLE V 

XII. 

And if, O countrymen, I fall, 

Beside our grave let this be spoken : 

" No foe of France shall ever dance 
Above the heart and fiddle, broken ! " 



XIII. 

So come, poor dog, my faithful friend, 
I prithee do not heed my sorrow, 

But feast to-day while yet you may. 
For we are like to starve to-morrow. 



THE LITTLE PEACH. 53 



THE LITTLE PEACH. 

A LITTLE peach in the orchard grew, 
A little peach of emerald hue ; 
Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew, 
It grew. 

One day, passing that orchard through, 
That little peach dawned on the view 
Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue — 
Them two. 

Up at that peach a club they threw — 
Down from the stem on which it grew 
Fell that peach of emerald hue. 
Mon Dieu ! 

John took a bite and Sue a chew, 
And then the trouble began to brew, — 
Trouble the doctor could n't subdue. 
Too true ! 



54 THE LITTLE PEACH. 

Under the turf where the daisies grew 
They planted John and his sister Sue, 
And their little souls to the angels flew, — 
Boo hoo ! 

What of that peach of the emerald hue, 
Warmed by the sun, and wet by the dew ? 
Ah, well, its mission on earth is through. 
Adieu ! 
1880. 



HORACE III. 13. 55 



HORACE III. 13. 

r\ FOUNTAIN of Bandusia, 
^-^ Whence crystal waters flow, 
With garlands gay and wine I '11 pay 

The sacrifice I owe ; 
A sportive kid with budding horns 

I have, whose crimson blood 
Anon shall dye and sanctify 

Thy cool and babbling flood 

O fountain of Bandusia, 

The dogstar's hateful spell 
No evil brings unto the springs 

That from thy bosom well ; 
Here oxen, wearied by the plough, 

The roving cattle here, 
Hasten in quest of certain rest 

And quaff thy gracious cheer. 



56 HORACE III. 13. 

O fountain of Bandusia, 

Ennobled shalt thou be, 
For I shall sing the joys that spring 

Beneath yon ilex-tree ; 
Yes, fountain of Bandusia, 

Posterity shall know 
The cooling brooks that from thy nooks 

Singing and dancing go ! 



THE DIVINE LULLABY. 57 



THE DIVINE LULLABY. 

T HEAR Thy voice, dear Lord; 

I hear it by the stormy sea 

When winter nights are black and wild, 

And when, affright, I call to Thee ; 

It calms my fears and whispers me, 

" Sleep well, my child." 

I hear Thy voice, dear Lord, 
In singing winds, in falling snow, 

The curfew chimes, the midnight bell. 
" Sleep well, my child," it murmurs low ; 
" The guardian angels come and go, — 

child, sleep well ! " 

1 hear Thy voice, dear Lord , 

Ay, though the singing winds be stilled. 

Though hushed the tumult of the deep. 
My fainting heart with anguish chilled 
By Thy assuring tone is thrilled, — 
" Fear not, and sleep ! " 



58 THE DIVINE LULLABY. 

Speak on — speak on, dear Lord ! 
And when the last dread night is near, 

With doubts and fears and terrors wild, 
Oh, let my soul expiring hear 
Only these words of heavenly cheer, 

" Sleep well, my child ! " 



IN THE FIRELIGHT. 59 



IN THE FIRELIGHT. 

nPHE fire upon the hearth is low, 
And there is stillness everywhere, 
While like winged spirits, here and there, 

The firelight shadows fluttering go. 

And as the shadows round me creep, 
A childish treble breaks the gloom. 
And softly from a further room 

Comes, " Now I lay me down to sleep." 

And somehow, with that little prayer 
And that sweet treble in my ears, 
My thoughts go back to distant years 

And linger with a loved one there ; 

And as I hear my child's amen, 

My mother's faith comes back to me, — 
Crouched at her side I seem to be, 

And Mother holds my hands again. 



6o IN THE FIRELIGHT. 

Oh, for an hour in that dear place ! 

Oh, for the peace of that dear time ! 

Oh, for that childish trust sublime ! 
Oh, for a ghmpse of Mother's face ! 
Yet, as the shadows round me creep, 

I do not seem to be alone, — 

Sweet magic of that treble tone, 
And " Now I lay me down to sleep." 

1885. 



HEINE'S ''WIDOW OR DAUGHTERS 6 1 



HEINE'S "WIDOW OR DAUGHTER?" 

O HALL I woo the one or other ? 
^ Both attract me — more 's the pity ! 
Pretty is the widowed mother, 
And the daughter, too, is pretty. 

When I see that maiden shrinking, 
By the gods I swear I '11 get 'er ! 

But anon I fall to thinking 
That the mother '11 suit me better ! 

So, like any idiot ass 

Hungry for the fragrant fodder, 
Placed between two bales of grass, 

Lo, I doubt, delay, and dodder ! 



62 CHRISTMAS TREASURES. 



CHRISTMAS TREASURES. 

T COUNT my treasures o'er with care, - 
The little toy my darling knew, 
A little sock of faded hue, 

A little lock of golden hair. 

Long years ago this holy time. 

My little one — my all to me — 
Sat robed in white upon my knee 

And heard the merry Christmas chime. 

" Tell me, my little golden-head. 

If Santa Claus should come to-night, 
What shall he bring my baby bright, — 

What treasure for my boy .'* " I said. 

And then he named this little toy, 

While in his round and mournful eyes 
There came a look of sweet surprise, 

That spake his quiet, trustful joy. 



CHRISTMAS TREASURES. 63 

And as he lisped his evening prayer 

He asked the boon with childish grace ; 
Then, toddling to the chimney-place, 

He hung this little stocking there. 

That night, while lengthening shadows crept, 
I saw the white-winged angels come 
With singing to our lowly home 

And kiss my darling as he slept. 

They must have heard his little prayer, 
For in the morn, with rapturous face. 
He toddled to the chimney-place, 

And found this little treasure there. 

They came again one Christmas-tide, — 
That angel host, so fair and white ! 
And singing all that glorious night. 

They lured my darling from my side. 

A little sock, a little toy, 

A little lock of golden hair. 
The Christmas music on the air, 

A watching for my baby boy ! 



64 CHRISTMAS TREASURES. 



But if again that angel train 

And golden-head come back for me, 

To bear me to Eternity, 
My watching will not be in vain ! 

1879. 



DE A MI CI TI IS. 65 



DE AMICITIIS. 

Though care and strife 

Elsewhere be rife, 
Upon my word I do not heed 'em ; 

In bed I lie 

With books hard by, 
And with increasing zest I read 'em. 

Propped up in bed. 

So much I 've read 
Of musty tomes that I 've a headful 

Of tales and rhymes 

Of ancient times. 
Which, wife declares, are "simply dreadful! " 

They give me joy 

Without alloy ; 
And is n't that what books are made for ? 

And yet — and yet — 

(Ah, vain regret !) 
I would to God they all were paid for ! 
5 



66 DE AMICITIIS. 



No festooned cup 

Filled foaming up 
Can lure me elsewhere to confound me ; 

Sweeter than wine 

This love of mine 
For these old books I see around me ! 

A plague, I say, 

On maidens gay; 
I '11 weave no compliments to tell 'em ! 

Vain fool I were, 

Did I prefer 
Those dolls to these old friends in vellum ! 

At dead of night 

My chamber 's bright 
Not only with the gas that 's burning, 

But with the glow 

Of long ago, — 
Of beauty back from eld returning. 

Fair women's looks 

I see in books, 
I see them, and I hear their laughter, — 

Proud, high-born maids. 

Unlike the jades 
Which menfolk now go chasing after ! 



DE A MIC I TI IS. 67 



Herein again 

Speak valiant men 
Of all nativities and ages ; 

I hear and smile 

With rapture while 
I turn these musty, magic pages. 

The sword, the lance, 

The morris dance, 
The highland song, the greenwood ditty, 

Of these I read, 

Or, when the need. 
My Miller grinds me grist that 's gritty ! 

When of such stuff 

We 've had enough. 
Why, there be other friends to greet us ; 

We '11 moralize 

In solemn wise 
With Plato or with Epictetus. 

Sneer as you may, 

/ '/« proud to say 
That I, for one, am very grateful 

To Heaven, that sends 

These genial friends 
To banish other friendships hateful ! 



6S DE AMICITIIS. 



And when I 'm done, 

I 'd have no son 
Pounce on these treasures like a vulture ; 

Nay, give them half 

My epitaph. 
And let them share in my sepulture. 

Then, when the crack 

Of doom rolls back 
The marble and the earth that hide me, 

I '11 smuggle home 

Each precious tome. 
Without a fear my wife shall chide me ! 



OUR LADY OF THE MINE. 69 



OUR LADY OF THE MINE. 

nnHE Blue Horizon wuz a mine us fellers all 

thought well uv, 
And there befell the episode I now perpose to 

tell uv; 
'T wuz in the year uv sixty-nine, — somewhere 

along in summer, — 
There hove in sight one afternoon a new and 

curious comer; 
His name wuz Silas Pettibone, — a artist by per- 

fession, — 
With a kit of tools and a big mustache and a 

pipe in his possession. 
He told us, by our leave, he 'd kind uv like to 

make some sketches 
Uv the snowy peaks, 'nd the foamin' crick, 'nd 

the distant mountain stretches ; 
" You 're welkim, sir," sez we, although this sce- 
nery dodge seemed to us 
A waste uv time where scenery wuz already sooper- 

JIoo-ws. 



yo OUR LADY OF THE MINE. 

All through the summer Pettibone kep' busy at his 
sketchin', — 

At daybreak off for Eagle Pass, and home at night- 
fall, fetchin' 

That everlastin' book uv his with spider-lines all 
through it ; 

Three-Fingered Hoover used to say there warn't 
no meanin' to it. 

" Gol durn a man," sez he to him, " whose shif'less 
hand is sot at 

A-drawin' hills that 's full uv quartz that 's pinin' 
to be got at ! " 

"Go on," sez Pettibone, "go on, if joshin' grati- 
fies ye ; 

But one uv these fine times I '11 show ye sumthin' 
will surprise ye ! " 

The which remark led us to think — although he 
didn't say it — 

That Pettibone wuz owin' us a gredge 'nd meant 
to pay it. 

One evenin' as we sat around the Restauraw de 

Casey, 
A-singin' songs 'nd tellin' yarns the which wuz 

sumwhat racy, 



OUR LADY OF THE MINE. 7 I 

In come that feller Pettibone, 'nd sez, " With your 

permission, 
I 'd like to put a picture I have made on exhi- 
bition." 
He sot the picture on the bar 'nd drew aside its 

curtain, 
Sayin', " I recken you '11 allow as how that '^ art, 

f'r certain ! " 
And then we looked, with jaws agape, but nary 

word wuz spoken. 
And f'r a likely spell the charm uv silence wuz 

unbroken — 
Till presently, as in a dream, remarked Three- 

P'ingered Hoover : 
" Onless I am mistaken, this is Pettibone's shef 

doover ! " 

It wuz a face — a human face — a woman's, fair 

'nd tender — 
Sot gracefully upon a neck white as a swan's, and 

slender ; 
The hair wuz kind uv sunny, 'nd the eyes wuz sort 

uv dreamy, 
The mouth wuz half a-smilin', 'nd the cheeks wuz 

soft 'nd creamy ; 



72 OUR LADY OF THE MINE. 



It seemed like she wuz lookin' off into the west 

out yonder, 
And seemed like, while she looked, we saw her 

eyes grow softer, fonder, — 
Like, lookin' off into the west, where mountain 

mists wuz fallin'. 
She saw the face she longed to see and heerd his 

voice a-callin'; 
** Hooray ! " we cried, — "a woman in the camp uv 

Blue Horizon ! 
Step right up, Colonel Pettibone, 'nd nominate your 

pizen ! " 

A curious situation, — one deservin' uv your 

pity,— 
No human, livin', female thing this side of Denver 

City! 
But jest a lot uv husky men that lived on sand 'nd 

bitters, — 
Do you wonder that that woman's face consoled 

the lonesome critters? 
And not a one but what it served in some way to 

remind him 
Of a mother or a sister or a sweetheart left behind 

him ; 



OUR LADY OF THE MINE. 73 

And some looked back on happier days, and saw 

the old-time faces 
And heerd the dear familiar sounds in old familiar 

places, — 
A gracious touch of home. " Look here," sez 

Hoover, "ever'body 
Quit thinkin' 'nd perceed at oncet to name his 

favorite toddy ! " 

It wuz n't long afore the news had spread the coun- 
try over. 

And miners come a-flockin' in like honey-bees to 
clover ; 

It kind uv did 'em good, they said, to feast their 
hungry eyes on 

That picture uv Our Lady in the camp uv Blue 
Horizon. 

But one mean cuss from Nigger Crick passed criti- 
cisms on 'er, — 

Leastwise we overheerd him call her Pettibone's 
madonner, 

The which we did not take to be respectful to a 
lady, 

So we hung him in a quiet spot that wuz cool 'nd 
dry 'nd shady; 



74 OUR LADY OF THE MINE. 

Which same might not have been good law, but it 

wuz the right maneuver 
To give the critics due respect for Pettibone's shef 

doover. 

Gone is the camp, — yes, years ago the Blue Hori- 
zon busted, 
And every mother's son uv us got up one day 'nd 

dusted. 
While Pettibone perceeded East with wealth in his 

possession, 
And went to Yurrup, as I heerd, to study his per- 

fession ; 
So, like as not, you '11 find him now a-paintin' heads 

'nd faces 
At Venus, Billy Florence, and the like I-talyun 

places. 
But no sech face he '11 paint again as at old Blue 

Horizon, 
For I '11 allow no sweeter face no human soul sot 

eyes on ; 
And when the critics talk so grand uv Paris 'nd the 

Loover, 
I say, " Oh, but you orter seen the Pettibone shef 

doover ! " 



THE WANDERER. 75 



THE WANDERER. 

T T PON a mountain height, far from the sea, 
^^ I found a shell, 
And to my listening ear the lonely thing 
Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, 
Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell. 

How came the shell upon that mountain height ? 

Ah, who can say 
Whether there dropped by some too careless hand. 
Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land, 

Ere the Eternal had ordained the Day ? 

Strange, was it not ? Far from its native deep, 

One song it sang, — 
Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide. 
Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide, — 

Ever with echoes of the ocean rang:. 



J 6 THE TVANDERER. 

And as the shell upon the mountain height 

Sings of the sea, 
So do I ever, leagues and leagues away, — - 
So do I ever, wandering where I may, — 

Sing, O my home ! sing, O my home ! of thee. 

1883. 



TO A USURPER. 77 



TO A USURPER. 

A HA ! a traitor in the camp, 
A rebel strangely bold, — 
A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp, 
Not more than four years old ! 

To think that I, who 've ruled alone 

So proudly in the past. 
Should be ejected from my throne 

By my own son at last ! 

He trots his treason to and fro. 

As only babies can. 
And says he '11 be his mamma's beau 

When he 's a " gw'eat, big man " ! 

You stingy boy ! you 've always had 
A share in mamma's heart ; 

Would you begrudge your poor old dad 
The tiniest little part ? 



78 TO A USURPER. 

That mamma, I regret to see, 
Inclines to take your part, — 

As if a dual monarchy 

Should rule her gentle heart ! 

But when the years of youth have sped, 
The bearded man, I trow. 

Will quite forget he ever said 
He 'd be his mamma's beau. 

Renounce your treason, little son. 
Leave mamma's heart to me ; 

For there will come another one 
To claim your loyalty. 

And when that other comes to you, 
God grant her love may shine 

Through all your life, as fair and true 
As mamma's does through mine ! 



1885. 



LULLABY; BY THE SEA. 79 



F 



LULLABY ; BY THE SEA. 

AIR is the castle up on the hill — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 
The night is fair, and the waves are still, 
And the wind is singing to you and to me 
In this lowly home beside the sea — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

On yonder hill is store of wealth — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 
And revellers drink to a little one's health ; 
But you and I bide night and day 
For the other love that has sailed away — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep 

Ghostlike, O my own ! 
Out of the mists of the murmuring deep ; 
Oh, see them not and make no cry 
Till the angels of death have passed us by - 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 



So LULLABY; BY THE SEA. 

Ah, little they reck of you and me — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 
In our lonely home beside the sea ; 
They seek the castle up on the hill, 
And there they will do their ghostly will — 

Hushaby, O my own ! 

Here by the sea a mother croons 

" Hushaby, sweet my own ! " 
In yonder castle a mother swoons 
While the angels go down to the misty deep, 
Bearing a little one fast asleep — 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 



SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER. 8 1 



SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER. 

« O WEETHEART, take this," a soldier said, 

*^^^ " And bid me brave good-by ; 
It may befall we ne'er shall wed, 

But love can never die. 
Be steadfast in thy troth to me, 

And then, whate'er my lot, 
* My soul to God, my heart to thee,' — 

Sweetheart, forget me not 1 " 

The maiden took the tiny flower 

And nursed it with her tears : 
Lo ! he who left her in that hour 

Came not in after years. 
Unto a hero's death he rode 

'Mid shower of fire and shot ; 
But in the maiden's heart abode 

The flower, forget-me-not. 
6 



S2 SOLDIER, MAIDEN, AND FLOWER. 

And when he came not with the rest 

From out the years of blood, 
Closely unto her widowed breast 

She pressed a faded bud ; 
Oh, there is love and there is pain, 

And there is peace, God wot, — 
And these dear three do live again 

In sweet forget-me-not. ■ 

'T is to an unmarked grave to-day 

That I should love to go, — • 
Whether he wore the blue or gray, 

What need that we should know. 
" He loved a woman," let us say. 

And on that sacred spot, 
To woman's love, that lives for aye, 

We '11 strew forget-me-not. 

1887. 



HORACE TO MELPOMENE. ^Z 



HORACE TO MELPOMENE. 

T OFTY and enduring is the monument I 've 
^~^ reared, — 

Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; 
And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things 
mortal feared. 

Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing ! 

I shall not altogether die ; by far my greater part 
Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal ; 

My works shall live as tributes to my genius and 
my art, — 
My works shall be my monument eternal ! 

While this great Roman empire stands and gods 
protect our fanes, 
Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story. 
How one most lowly born upon the parched Apu- 
lian plains 
First raised the native lyric muse to glory. 



84 HORACE TO MELPOMENE. 

Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I 've 
won. 
And, with thine own dear hand the meed sup- 
plying, 
Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son 
The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying ! 



AILS IE, MY BAIRN. 85 



AILSIE, MY BAIRN. 

T IE in my arms, Ailsie, my bairn, — 

— ' Lie in my arms and dinna greit ; 
Long time been past syn I kenned you last. 
But my harte been allwais the same, my swete. 

Ailsie, I colde not say you ill. 

For out of the mist of your bitter tears. 

And the prayers that rise from your bonnie eyes 
Cometh a promise of oder yeres. 

I mind the time when we lost our bairn, — 
Do you ken that time ? A wambling tot, 

You wandered away ane simmer day. 

And we hunted and called, and found you not. 

I promised God, if He 'd send you back, 
Alwaies to keepe and to love you, childe ; 

And I 'm thinking again of that promise when 
I see you creep out of the storm sae wild. 



86 A I LSI E, MY BAIRN. 

You came back then as you come back now, — 
Your kirtle torn and your face all white ; 

And you stood outside and knockit and cried, 
Just as you, dearie, did to-night. 

Oh, never a word of the cruel wrang, 

That has faded your cheek and dimmed your ee ; 
And never a word of the fause, fause lord, — 

Only a smile and a kiss for me. 

Lie in my arms, as long, long syne. 

And sleepe on my bosom, deere wounded thing, — 
I 'm nae sae glee as I use to be. 

Or I 'd sing you the songs I use to sing. 

But He kemb my fingers thro' yr haire. 
And nane shall know, but you and I, 

Of the love and the faith that came to us baith 
When Ailsie, my bairn, came home to die. 



CORNISH LULLABY. 87 



CORNISH LULLABY. 

/^UT on the mountain over the town, 
^^ All night long, all night long, 
The trolls go up and the trolls go down. 

Bearing their packs and crooning a song ; 
And this is the song the hill-folk croon, 
As they trudge in the light of the misty moon, 
This is ever their dolorous tune : 
" Gold, gold ! ever more gold, — 

Bright red gold for dearie ! " 

Deep in the hill the yeoman delves 

All night long, all night long ; 
None but the peering, furtive elves 

See his toil and hear his song ; 
Merrily ever the cavern rings 
As merrily ever his pick he swings, 
And merrily ever this song he sings : 
" Gold, gold ! ever more gold, — 

Bright red gold for dearie ! " 



SS CORNISH LULLABY. 

Mother is rocking thy lowly bed 

All night long, all night long, 
Happy to smooth thy curly head 

And to hold thy hand and to sing her song ; 
'T is not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old. 
Nor the song of the yeoman, stanch and bold, 
And the burden it beareth is not of gold ; 
But it 's " Love, love ! — nothing but love, — 
Mother's love for dearie ! " 



UHLAND'S ''THREE CAVALIERS." 89 



UHLAND'S "THREE CAVALIERS." 

'T^HERE were three cavaliers that went over the 
-*- Rhine, 
And gayly they called to the hostess for wine. 
" And where is thy daughter ? We would she were 

here, — 
Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer ! " 

" I '11 fetch thee thy goblets full foaming," she 

said, 
" But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies 

dead." 
And lo ! as they stood in the doorway, the white 
Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their 

sight. 

Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh. 
And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his 
eye, 



90 UHLAND'S ''THREE CAVALIERSr 

And he cried, " Hadst thou lived, O my pretty 

white rose, 
I ween I had loved thee and wed thee — who 

knows ? " 

The next cavalier drew aside a small space. 
And stood to the wall with his hands to his face ; 
And this was the heart-cry that came with his 

tears : 
" I loved her, I loved her these many long years ! " 

But the third cavalier kneeled him down in that 

place. 
And, as it were holy, he kissed that dead face : 
" I loved thee long years, and I love thee to-day. 
And I '11 love thee, dear maiden, forever and aye ! " 



CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF HORACE. 9 1 



A CHAUCERIAN PARAPHRASE OF 
HORACE. 

O YN that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken, 
^^ Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken ; 
Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding 
Whenas come lovers with theyre pityse chiding ; 
Sothly it ben faire to give up your moder 
For to beare swete company with some oder ; 
Your moder ben well enow so farre shee goeth, 
But that ben not farre enow, God knoweth ; 
Wherefore it ben sayed that foolysh ladyes 
That marrye not shall leade an aype in Hadys ; 
But all that do with gode men wed full quickylye 
When that they be on dead go to ye seints full 
sickerly. 



92 NORSE LULLABY. 



NORSE LULLABY. 

nPHE sky is dark and the hills are white 

As the storm-king speeds from the north 
to-night, 
And this is the song the storm-king sings, 
As over the world his cloak he flings : 

" Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ; " 
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings : 
" Sleep, little one, sleep." 

On yonder mountain-side a vine 
Clings at the foot of a mother pine ; 
The tree bends over the trembling thing, 
And only the vine can hear her sing : 

" Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ; 
What shall you fear when I am here ? 

Sleep, little one, sleep." 



NORSE LULLABY. 93 

The king may sing in his bitter flight, 
The tree may croon to the vine to-night, 
But the Httle snowflake at my breast 
Liketh the song / sing the best, — 

Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ; 
Weary thou art, anext my heart 

Sleep, little one, sleep. 



94 BERANGER'S ''MY LAST SOiVG, PER// A PS.'* 



BERANGER'S "MY LAST SONG 
PERHAPS." 

[January, 1814.] 

"I T 7HEN, to despoil my native France, 

With flaming torch and cruel sword 
And boisterous drums her foeman comes, 

I curse him and his vandal horde ! 
Yet, what avail accrues to her, 

If we assume the garb of w^oe ? 
Let 's merry be, — in laughter we 

May rescue somewhat from the foe! 

Ah, many a brave man trembles now. 

I (coward !) show no sign of fear ; 
When Bacchus sends his blessing, friends, 

I drown my panic in his cheer. 
Come, gather round my humble board, 

And let the sparkling wassail flow, — 
Chuckling to think, the while you drink, 

" This much we rescue from the foe ! " 



STRANGER'S ''MY LAST SONG, PERHAPS:* 95 

My creditors beset me so 

And so environed my abode, 
That I agreed, despite my need. 

To settle up the debts I owed ; 
When suddenly there came the news 

Of this invasion, as you know ; 
I '11 pay no score ; pray, lend me more, — 

I — /will keep it from the foe ! 

Now here 's my mistress, — pretty dear ! — 

Feigns terror at this martial noise, 
And yet, methinks, the artful minx 

Would like to meet those soldier boys ! 
I tell her that they 're coarse and rude, 

Yet feel she don't believe 'em so, — 
Well, never mind ; so she be kind. 

That much I rescue from the foe ! 

If, brothers, hope shall have in store 

For us and ours no friendly glance, 
Let 's rather die than raise a cry 

Of welcome to the foes of France ! 
But, like the swan that dying sings, 

Let us, O Frenchmen, singing go, — 
Then shall our cheer, when death is near, 

Be so much rescued from the foe ! 



gS MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. 



MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. 

nPHAR showed up out 'n Denver in the spring 
J- uv '8i 
A man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo York 

Sun. 
His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, 'nd he wuz a 

sight ter view 
Ez he walked inter the orfice 'nd inquired fer work 

to do. 
Thar warn't no places vacant then, — fer be it un- 
derstood, 
That wuz the time when talent flourished at that 

altitood ; 
But thar the stranger lingered, tellin' Raymond 'nd 

the rest 
Uv what perdigious wonders he could do when at 

his best, 
'Til finally he stated (quite by chance) that he hed 

done 
A heap uv work with Dana on the Noo York Sun. 



MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. 97 

Wall, that wuz quite another thing ; we owned that 

ary cuss 
Who 'd worked f'r Mr. Dana must be good enough 

fer us / 
And so we tuk the stranger's word 'nd nipped him 

while we could, 
For if we didn't take him we knew John Arkins 

would J 
And Cooper, too, wuz mouzin* round fer enterprise 

'nd brains, 
Whenever them commodities blew in across the 

plains. 
At any rate we nailed him, which made ol' Cooper 

swear 
And Arkins tear out handfuls uv his copious curly 

hair; 
But we set back and cackled, 'nd hed a power uv 

fun 
With our man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo 

York Sun. 

It made our eyes hang on our cheeks 'nd lower 

jaws ter drop, 
Ter hear that feller tellin' how ol' Dana run his 

shop : 

7 



gS MR. DA ATA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. 

It seems that Dana wuz the biggest man you ever 

saw, — 
He lived on human beings, 'nd preferred to eat 'em 

raw! 
If he hed democratic drugs ter take, before he took 

em'. 
As good old allopathic laws prescribe, he alius 

shook 'em. 
The man that could set down 'nd write like Dany 

never grew. 
And the sum of human knowledge wuz n't half 

what Dana knew; 
The consequence appeared to be that nearly every 

one 
Concurred with Mr. Dana of the Noo York Sun. 

This feller, Cantell Whoppers, never brought an 

item in, — 
He spent his time at Perrin's shakin' poker dice f'r 

gin. 
Whatever the assignment he wuz alius sure to shirk, 
He wuz very long on likker and all-fired short on 

work ! 
If any other cuss had played the tricks he dared 

ter play, 



MR. DAN-A, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. 99 

The daisies would be bloomin' over his remains 

to-day ; 
But somehow folks respected him and stood him 

to the last, 
Considerin' his superior connections in the past. 
So, when he bilked at poker, not a sucker drew a 

gun 
On the man who 'd worked with Dana on the Noo 

York Sun. 

Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv '83, 
A very different party from the man we thought ter 

see, — 
A nice 'nd clean old gentleman, so dignerfied 'nd 

calm. 
You bet yer life he never did no human bein' harm ! 
A certain hearty manner 'nd a fulness uv the vest 
Betokened that his sperrits 'nd his victuals wuz the 

best; 
His face was so benevolent, his smile so sweet 'nd 

kind. 
That they seemed to be the reflex uv an honest, 

healthy mind ; 
And God had set upon his head a crown uv silver 

hair 



L.ofC. 



lOO MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. 

In promise uv the golden crown He meaneth him 

to wear. 
So, uv us boys that met him out 'n Denver, there 

wuz none 
But fell in love with Dana uv the Noo York 

Sun. 

But when he came to Denver in that fall uv '83, 
His old friend Cantell Whoppers disappeared 

upon a spree ; 
The very thought uv seein' Dana worked upon 

him so 
(They had n't been together fer a year or two, you 

know). 
That he borrered all the stuff he could and started 

on a bat, 
And, strange as it may seem, we did n't see him 

after that. 
So, when ol' Dana hove in sight, we could n't un- 
derstand 
Why he did n't seem to notice that his crony wa' n't 

on hand ; 
No casual allusion, not a question, no, not one. 
For the man who 'd " worked with Dana on the Noo 

York Sun ! " 



MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. 10 1 

We broke it gently to him, but he didn't seem 

surprised, 
Thar wuz no big burst uv passion as we fellers had 

surmised. 
He said that Whoppers wuz a man he 'd never 

heerd about, 
But he mought have carried papers on a Jarsey 

City route ; 
And then he recollected hearin' Mr. Laffan say 
That he 'd fired a man named Whoppers fur bein' 

drunk one day, 
Which, with more likker underneath than money in 

his vest, 
Had started on a freight train fur the great 'nd 

boundin' West, 
But further information or statistics he had none 
Uv the man who 'd " worked with Dana on the Noo 

York Sun." 

We dropped the matter quietly 'nd never made no 

fuss, — 
When we get played for suckers, why, that 's a horse 

on us ! — 
But every now 'nd then we Denver fellers have to 

laff 



102 MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. 

To hear some other paper boast uv havin' on its 

staff 
A man who's "worked with Dana," 'nd then we 

fellers wink 
And pull our hats down on our eyes 'nd set around 

'nd think. 
It seems like Dana couldn't be as smart as people 

say, 
If he educates so many folks 'nd lets 'em get 

away; 
And, as for us, in future we '11 be very apt to 

shun 
The man who "worked with Dana on the Noo 

York Sun." 

But bless ye, Mr. Dana ! may you live a thousan' 

years, 
To sort o' keep things lively in this vale of human 

tears ; 
An' may / live a thousan', too, — a thousan' less a 

day. 
For I should n't like to be on earth to hear you 'd 

passed away. 
And when it comes your time to go you '11 need no 

Latin chaff 



MR. DANA, OF THE NEW YORK SUN. IO3 

Nor biographic data put in your epitaph ; 

But one straight line of English and of truth will 

let folks know 
The homage 'nd the gratitude 'nd reverence they 

owe; 
You '11 need no epitaph but this : " Here sleeps 

the man who run 
That best 'nd brightest paper, the Noo York 

Sun." 



I04 SICILIAN LULLABY. 



SICILIAN LULLABY. 

T T USH, little one, and fold your hands ; 
The sun hath set, the moon is high ; 
The sea is singing to the sands, 

And wakeful posies are beguiled 
By many a fairy lullaby : 

Hush, little child, my little child ! 

Dream, little one, and in your dreams 

Float upward from this lowly place, — 
Float out on mellow, misty streams 
To lands where bideth Mary mild, 
And let her kiss thy little face. 
You little child, my little child ! 

Sleep, little one, and take thy rest, 

With angels bending over thee, — 
Sleep sweetly on that Father's breast 

Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled ; 
But stay not there, — come back to me, 
O little child, my little child ! 



HORACE TO PYRRHA. I05 



HORACE TO PYRRHA. 

T T THAT perfumed, posie-dizened sirrah, 

With smiles for diet, 
Clasps you, O fair but faithless Pyrrha, 

On the quiet ? 
For whom do you bind up your tresses, 

As spun-gold yellow, — 
Meshes that go, with your caresses, 

To snare a fellow ? 

How will he rail at fate capricious, 

And curse you duly ! 
Yet now he deems your wiles delicious, 

Yon perfect, truly ! 
Pyrrha, your love 's a treacherous ocean ; 

He '11 soon fall in there ! 
Then shall I gloat on his commotion, 

For / have been there ! 



I06 THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM. 



THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM. 

A /FY Shepherd is the Lord my God, 

There is no want I know ; 
His flock He leads in verdant meads, 
Where tranquil waters flow. 

He doth restore my fainting soul 

With His divine caress, 
And, when I stray. He points the way 

To paths of righteousness. 

Yea, though I walk the vale of death, 

What evil shall I fear ? 
Thy staff and rod are mine, O God, 

And Thou, my Shepherd, near ! 

Mine enemies behold the feast 
Which my dear Lord hath spread ; 

And, lo ! my cup He fiUeth up. 
With oil anoints my head ! 



THE TIVENTY-THIRD PSALM. IO7 

Goodness and mercy shall be mine 

Unto my dying day ; 
Then will I bide at His dear side 

Forever and for aye ! 



I08 THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE. 



THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE. 

'T^HE womenfolk are like to books, 
•*' Most pleasing to the eye, 
Whereon if anybody looks 
He feels disposed to buy. 

I hear that many are for sale, — 
Those that record no dates. 

And such editions as regale 
The view with colored plates. 

Of every quality and grade 
And size they may be found, — 

Quite often beautifully made. 
As often poorly bound. 

Now, as for me, had I my choice, 

I 'd choose no folio tall. 
But some octavo to rejoice 

My sight and heart withal, — 



THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE. IO9 

As plump and pudgy as a snipe ; 

Well worth her weight in gold ; 
Of honest, clean, conspicuous type, 

AnA Just the size to hold ! 

With such a volume for my wife, 

How should I keep and con ! 
How like a dream should run my life 

Unto its colophon ! 

Her frontispiece should be more fair 

Than any colored plate ; 
Blooming with health, she would not care 

To extra-illustrate. 

And in her pages there should be 

A wealth of prose and verse, 
With now and then zjeu d''esp7'it^ — 

But nothing ever worse ! 

Prose for me when I wished for prose, 
Verse when to verse inclined, — 

Forever bringing sweet repose 
To body, heart, and mind. 



no THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE. 

Oh, I should bind this priceless prize 

In bindings full and fine, 
And keep her where no human eyes 

Should see her charms, but mine ! 

With such a fair unique as this 

What happiness abounds ! 
Who — who could paint my rapturous bliss, 

My joy unknown to Lowndes ! 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. HI 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

Sing, Christmas bells ! 
Say to the earth this is the morn. 
Whereon our Saviour-King is born ; 

Sing to all men, — the bond, the free, 
The rich, the poor, the high, the low, 
The little child that sports in glee. 
The aged folk that tottering go, — 
Proclaim the morn 
That Christ is born, 
That saveth them and saveth me ! 

Sing, angel host ! 
Sing of the star that God has placed 
Above the manger in the east ; 

Sing of the glories of the night, 
The virgin's sweet humility. 

The Babe with kingly robes bedight, 
Sing to all men where'er they be 
This Christmas morn ; 
For Christ is born. 
That saveth them and saveth me ! 



112 CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

Sing, sons of earth ! 
O ransomed seed of Adam, sing ! 
God liveth, and we have a king ! 

The curse is gone, the bond are free, — 
By Bethlehem's star that brightly beamed, 

By all the heavenly signs that be. 
We know that Israel is redeemed ; 
That on this morn 
The Christ is born 
That saveth you and saveth me ! 

Sing, O my heart ! 
Sing thou in rapture this dear morn 
Whereon the blessed Prince is born ! 

And as thy songs shall be of love, 
So let my deeds be charity, — 

By the dear Lord that reigns above, 
By Him that died upon the tree. 
By this fair morn 
Whereon is born 
The Christ that saveth all and me ! 



JAPANESE LULLABY. II3 



JAPANESE LULLABY. 

O LEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings, — 

Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes ; 

Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging — 

Swinging the nest where her little one lies. 

Away out yonder I see a star, — 

Silvery star with a tinkling song ; 
To the soft dew falling I hear it calling — 

Calling and tinkling the night along. 

In through the window a moonbeam comes, — 
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings ; 

All silently creeping, it asks, " Is he sleeping — 
Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings ? " 

Up from the sea there floats the sob 

Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore. 
As though they were groaning in anguish, and 
moaning — 
Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. 
8 



114 JAPANESE LULLABY. 

But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings, 
Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes ; 

Am I not singing ? — see, I am swinging — 
Swinging the nest where my darling lies. 



GOOD-BV-GOD BLESS YOU!'' 1^5 



"GOOD-BY — GOD BLESS YOU!" 

T LIKE the Anglo-Saxon speech 
■^ With its direct revealings ; 
It takes a hold, and seems to reach 

Way down into your feelings ; 
That some folk deem it rude, I know, 

And therefore they abuse it ; 
But I have never found it so, — 

Before all else I choose it. 
I don't object that men should air 

The Gallic they have paid for, 
With " Au revoir," " Adieu, ma chere," 

For that 's what French was made for. 
But when a crony takes your hand 

At parting, to address you. 
He drops all foreign lingo and 

He says, " Good-by — God bless you ! " 

This seems to me a sacred phrase. 
With reverence impassioned, — 



GOOD-BY-GOD BLESS YOU t' 



A thing come down from righteous days, 

Quaintly but nobly fashioned ; 
It v;ell becomes an honest face, 

A voice that 's round and cheerful ; 
It stays the sturdy in his place. 

And soothes the weak and fearful. 
Into the porches of the ears 

It steals with subtle unction, 
And in your heart of hearts appears 

To work its gracious function; 
And all day long with pleasing song 

It lingers to caress you, — 
I 'm sure no human heart goes wrong 

That 's told " Good-by — God bless you ! '* 

I love the words, — perhaps because, 

When I was leaving Mother, 
Standing at last in solemn pause 

We looked at one another, 
And I — I saw in Mother's eyes 

The love she could not tell me, — 
A love eternal as the skies, 

Whatever fate befell me ; 
She put her arms about my neck 

And soothed the pain of leaving, 



"GOOD-BY—GOD BLESS VOU!" II7 

And though her heart was like to break, 
She spoke no word of grieving ; 

She let no tear bedim her eye, 
For fear that might distress me, 

But, kissing me, she said good-by. 
And asked our God to bless me. 



Il8 HORACE TO PHYLLIS. 



HORACE TO PHYLLIS. 



/^^OME, Phyllis, I 've a cask of wine 

That fairly reeks with precious juices, 
And in your tresses you shall twine 
The loveliest flowers this vale produces. 



My cottage wears a gracious smile, — 
The altar, decked in floral glory. 

Yearns for the lamb which bleats the while 
As though it pined for honors gory. 

Hither our neighbors nimbly fare, — 
The boys agog, the maidens snickering ; 

And savory smells possess the air 

As skyward kitchen flames are flickering. 

You ask what means this grand display. 
This festive throng, and goodly diet ? 

Well, since you 're bound to have your way, 
I don't mind telling, on the quiet. 



HORACE TO PHYLLIS. HQ 

'Tis April 13, as you know, — 

A day and month devote to Venus, 

Whereon was born, some years ago, 
My very worthy friend Maecenas. 

Nay, pay no heed to Telephus, — 

Your friends agree he does n't love you ; 
The way he flirts convinces us 
, He really is not worthy of you ! 

Aurora's son, unhappy lad ! 

You know the fate that overtook him ? 
And Pegasus a rider had — 

I say he had before he shook him ! 

Haec docet (as you must agree) : 
'T is meet that Phyllis should discover 

A wisdom in preferring me 

And mittening every other lover. 

So come, O Phyllis, last and best 

Of loves with which this heart 's been smitten, — 
Come, sing my jealous fears to rest. 

And let your songs be those Vve written. 



I20 CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE. 



CHRYSTMASSE OF OLDE. 

r^ OD rest you, Chrysten gentil men, 

Wherever you may be, — 
God rest you all in fielde or hall, 

Or on ye stormy sea ; 
For on this morn oure Chryst is born 

That saveth you and me. 

Last night ye shepherds in ye east 
Saw many a wondrous thing ; 

Ye sky last night flamed passing bright 
Whiles that ye stars did sing, 

And angels came to bless ye name 
Of Jesus Chrj'st, oure Kyng. 

God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, 

Faring where'er you may ; 
In noblesse court do thou no sport, 

In tournament no playe, 
In paynim lands hold thou thy hands 

From bloudy works this daye. 



CHRVSTMASSE OF OLDE. 121 

But thinking on ye gentil Lord 

Tliat died upon ye tree, 
Let troublings cease and deeds of peace 

Abound in Chrystantie ; 
For on this morn ye Chryst is born 

That saveth you and me. 



AT THE DOOR. 



AT THE DOOR. 

T THOUGHT myself indeed secure, 

So fast the door, so firm the lock 
But, lo ! he toddling comes to lure 
My parent ear with timorous knock. 

My heart were stone could it withstand 
The sweetness of my baby's plea, — 

That timorous, baby knocking and 
" Please let me in, — it 's only me." 

I threw aside the unfinished book. 
Regardless of its tempting charms, 

And opening wide the door, I took 
My laughing darling in my arms. 

Who knows but in Eternity, 
I, like a truant child, shall wait 

The glories of a life to be. 

Beyond the Heavenly Father's gate ? 



AT THE DOOR. 1 23 

And will that Heavenly Father heed 

The truant's supplicating cry, 
As at the outer door I plead, 

" 'T is I, O Father ! only I ? " 

[886. 



124 HI-SPY. 



HI-SPY. 

QTRANGE that the city thoroughfare, 
^^ Noisy and bustling all the day, 
Should with the night renounce its care 
And lend itself to children's play ! 

Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys. 
And have been so since Abel's birth, 

And shall be so 'til dolls and toys 
Are with the children swept from earth. 

The self -same sport that crowns the day 
Of many a Syrian shepherd's son, 

Beguiles the little lads at play 
By night in stately Babylon. 

I hear their voices in the street, 
Yet 't is so different now from then ! 

Come, brother ! from your winding sheet. 
And let us two be boys again ! 

1886. 



LITTLE CROODLIN DOO. I 25 



LITTLE CROODLIN DOO. 

T T O, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin doo ? 
Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea ? 
Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back to me — 
Got a lump o' sugar an' a posie for you. 
Only bring back my wee, wee croodlin doo ! 

Why, here you are, my little croodlin doo ! 
Looked in er cradle, but did n't find you there, 
Looked f 'r my wee, wee croodlin doo ever'where ; 

Ben kind lonesome all er day withouten you ; 

Where you ben, my little wee, wee croodlin doo ? 

Now you go balow, my little croodlin doo ; 

Now you go rockaby ever so far, — 

Rockaby, rockaby, up to the star 
That 's winkin' an' blinkin' an' singin' to you 
As you go balow, my wee, wee croodlin doo ! 



126 THE "HAPPY ISLES'' OF HORACE. 



THE "HAPPY ISLES" OF HORACE. 

/^H, come with me to the Happy Isles 
^"^^ In the golden haze off yonder, 
Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles, 
And the ocean loves to wander. 

Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills, 

Proudly the fig rejoices ; 
Merrily dance the virgin rills, 

Blending their myriad voices. 

Our herds shall fear no evil there, 

But peacefully feed and rest them ; 
Neither shall serpent or prowling bear 

Ever come there to molest them. 

Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold, 

Nor feverish drouth distress us, 
But he that compasseth heat and cold 

Shall temper them both to bless us. 



THE ''HAPPY ISLES'' OF HORACE. I 27 



There no vandal foot has trod, 
And the pirate hosts that wander 

Shall never profane the sacred sod 
Of those beautiful Isles out yonder. 

Never a spell shall blight our vines, 

Nor Sirius blaze above us. 
But you and I shall drink our wines 

And sing to the loved that love us. 

So come with me where Fortune smiles 
And the gods invite devotion, — 

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles 
In the haze of that far-off ocean ! 



128 DUTCH LULLABY. 



DUTCH LULLABY. 

VTTYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night 

Sailed off in a wooden shoe, — 
Sailed on a river of misty light 

Into a sea of dew. 
" Where are you going, and what do you wish ? 

The old moon asked the three. 
" We have come to fish for the herring-fish 
That live in this beautiful sea ; 
Nets of silver and gold have we," 
Said Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sung a song, 
As they rocked in the wooden shoe ; 

And the wind that sped them all night long 
Ruffled the waves of dew ; 

The little stars were the herring-fish 

That lived in the beautiful sea. 



DUTCH LULLABY. I 29 

"Now cast your nets wherever you wish, 
But never afeard are we ! " 
So cried the stars to the fishermen three, 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 

All night long their nets they threw 

For the fish in the twinkling foam, 
Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe. 

Bringing the fishermen home ; 
'T was all so pretty a sail, it seemed 

As if it could not be ; 
And some folk thought 't was a dream they 'd 
dreamed 
Of sailing that beautiful sea ; 
But I shall name you the fishermen three : 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

Wynken and Bl)/nken are two little eyes. 

And Nod is a little head. 
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed ; 
9 



I30 



DUTCH LULLABY. 



So shut your eyes while Mother sings 

Of wonderful sights that be, 
And you shall see the beautiful things 
As you rock on the misty sea 
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 



HUGO'S ''FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY.'' 13I 



HUGO'S "FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY.' 

QWEET, bide with me and let my love 
^^ Be an enduring tether ; 
Oh, wanton not from spot to spot, 
But let us dwell together. 

You 've come each morn to sip the sweets 
With which you found me dripping, 

Yet never knew it was not dew 
But tears that you were sipping. 

You gambol over honey meads 
Where siren bees are humming ; 

But mine the fate to watch and wait 
For my beloved's coming. 

The sunshine that delights you now 
Shall fade to darkness gloomy ; 

You should not fear if, biding here. 
You nestled closer to me. 



132 HUGO'S ''FLOWER TO BUTTERFLY:' 

So rest you, love, and be my love, 
That my enraptured blooming 

May fill your sight with tender light, 
Your wings with sweet perfuming. 

Or, if you will not bide with me 

Upon this quiet heather, 
Oh, give me wing, thou beauteous thing, 

That we may soar together. 



A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 1 33 



A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT. 

"\T THENAS ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have 

washed and purged awaye 
Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a 

merrie May, 
Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben full of birds 

that syng 
Right merrilie a madrigal unto ye waking spring, 
Ye whiles that when ye face of earth ben washed 

and wiped ycleane 
Her peeping posies blink and stare like they had 

ben her een ; 
Then, wit ye well, ye harte of man ben turned to 

thoughts of love, 
And, tho' it ben a lyon erst, it now ben like a 

dove ! 
And many a goodly damosel in innocence beguiles 
Her owne trewe love with sweet discourse and 

divers plaisaunt wiles. 
In soche a time ye noblesse liege" that ben Kyng 

Arthure hiirht 



134 A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 

Let cry a joust and tournament for evereche errant 
knyght, 

And, lo ! from distant Joyous-garde and eche adja- 
cent spot 

A company of noblesse lords fared unto Camelot, 

Wherein were mighty feastings and passing merrie 
cheere, 

And eke a dealeof dismal dole, as you shall quickly 
heare. 

It so befell upon a daye when jousts ben had and 

while 
Sir Launcelot did ramp around ye ring in gallaunt 

style. 
There came an horseman shriking sore and rashing 

wildly home, — 
A mediaeval horseman with ye usual flecks of 

foame; 
And he did brast into ye ring, wherein his horse did 

drop. 
Upon ye which ye rider did with like abruptness 

stop. 
And with fatigue and fearfulness continued in a 

swound 
Ye space of half an hour or more before a leech 

was founde. 



A PROPER TREWE IDYLL 6F CAME LOT. 1 35 

" Now tell me straight," quod Launcelot, " what 

varlet knyght you be, 
Ere that I chine you with my svvorde and cleave 

your harte in three ! " 
Then rolled that knyght his bloudy een, and an- 
swered with a groane, — 
" By worthy God that hath me made and shope ye 

sun and mone, 
There fareth hence an evil thing whose like ben 

never seene, 
And tho' he sayeth nony worde, he bodethe ill, I 

ween. 
So take your parting, evereche one, and gird you 

for ye fraye, — 
By all that's pure, ye Divell sure doth trend his 

path this way ! " 
Ye which he quoth and fell again into a deadly 

swound. 
And on that spot, perchance (God wot), his bones 

mought yet be founde. 

Then evereche knight girt on his swordc and shield 

and hied him straight 
To meet ye straunger sarasen hard by ye city 

gate; 



13^ A PROPER TR Eli's IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 

Full sorely moaned ye damosels and tore their beau- 
tyse haire 

For that they feared an hippogriff wolde come to 
eate them there ; 

But as they moaned and swounded there too numer- 
ous to relate, 

Kyng Arthure and Sir Launcelot stode at ye city 
gate, 

And at eche side and round about stode many a 
noblesse knyght 

With helm and speare and sworde and shield and 
mickle valor dight. 

Anon there came a straunger, but not a gyaunt grim, 
Nor yet a draggon, — but a person gangling, long, 

and slim ; 
Yclad he was in guise that ill-beseemed those knygtly 

days, 
And there ben nony etiquette in his uplandish ways ; 
His raiment was of dusty gray, and perched above 

his lugs 
There ben the very latest style of blacke and shiny 

pluggs ; 
His nose ben like a vulture beake, his blie ben swart 

of hue, 



A PROPER TREIVE IDYLL OF CAMELOT. 137 

And curly ben ye whiskers through ye which ye 

zephyrs blewe ; 
Of all ye een that ben yseene in countries far or nigh, 
None nonywhere colde hold compare unto that 

straunger's eye ; 
It was an eye of soche a kind as never ben on 

sleepe, 
Nor did it gleam with kindly beame, nor did not 

use to weepe; 
But soche an eye ye widdow hath, — an hongrey eye 

and wan, 
That spyeth for an oder chaunce whereby she may 

catch on ; 
An eye that winketh of itself, and sayeth by that 

v/inke 
Ye which a maiden sholde not knowe nor never even 

thinke ; 
Which winke ben more exceeding swift nor human 

thought ben thunk. 
And leaveth doubting if so be that winke ben really 

wunke ; 
And soch an eye ye catte-fysshe hath when that he 

ben on dead 
And boyled a goodly time and served with capers 

on his head; 



138 A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT, 

A rayless eye, a bead-like eye, whose famisht aspect 

shows 
It hungereth for ye verdant banks whereon ye wild 

time grows ; 
An eye that hawketh up and down for evereche kind 

of game, 
And, when he doth espy ye which, he tumbleth to 

ye same. 

Now when he kenned Sir Launcelot In armor clad, 

he quod, 
"Another put-a-nickel-in-and-see-me-work, be 

god ! " 
But when that he was ware a man ben standing in 

that suit. 
Ye straunger threw up both .his hands, and asked 

him not to shoote. 



Then spake Kyng Arthure : " If soe be you mind to 

do no ill. 
Come, enter into Camelot, and eat and drink your 

fill; 
But say me first what you are hight, and what 

mought be your quest. 



A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAMELOT. 1 39 



Ye straunger quod, " I 'm five feet ten, and fare me 

from ye West ! " 
" Sir Fivefeetten," Kyng Arthure said, " I bid you 

welcome here ; 
So make you merrie as you list with plaisaunt wine 

and cheere ; 
This very night shall be a feast soche like ben never 

seene, 
And you shall be ye honored guest of Arthure and 

his queene. 
Now take him, good sir Maligraunce, and entertain 

him well 
Until soche time as he becomes our guest, as I you 

tell." 

That night Kyng Arthure's table round with mighty 

care ben spread, 
Ye Oder knyghts sate all about, and Arthure at ye 

heade : 
Oh, 't was a goodly spectacle to ken that noblesse liege 
Dispensing hospitality from his commanding siege ! 
Ye pheasant and ye meate of boare, ye haunch of 

velvet doe, 
Ye canvass hamme he them did serve, and many 

good things moe. 



I40 A PROPER TREVVE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 

Until at last Kyng Arthure cried : " Let bring my 
wassail cup, 

And let ye sound of joy go round, — I 'm going to 
set 'em up ! 

I 've pipes of Malmsey, May-wine, sack, metheglon, 
mead, and sherry, 

Canary, Malvoisie, and Port, swete Muscadelle and 
perry ; 

Rochelle, Osey, and Romenay, Tyre, Rhenish, pos- 
set too. 

With kags and pails of foaming ales of brown Octo- 
ber brew. 

To wine and beer and other cheere I pray you now 
despatch ye. 

And for ensample, wit ye well, sweet sirs, I 'm look- 
ing at ye ! " 

Unto which toast of their liege lord ye oders in ye 

party 
Did lout them low in humble wise and bid ye same 

drink hearty. 
So then ben merrisome discourse and passing 

plaisaunt cheere, 
And Arthure's tales of hippogriffs ben mervaillous 

to heare: 



A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. I4I 

But stranger far than any tale told of those knyghts 

of old 
Ben those facetious narratives ye Western straunger 

told. 
He told them of a country many leagues beyond ye 

sea 
Where evereche forraine nuisance but ye Chinese 

man ben free, 
And whiles he span his monstrous yarns, ye ladies 

of ye court 
Did deem ye listening thereunto to be right plais- 

aunt sport; 
And whiles they listened, often he did squeeze a 

lily hande, — 
Ye which proceeding ne'er before ben done in 

Arthure's lande; 
And often wank a sidelong wink with either roving 

eye, 
Whereat ye ladies laughen so that they had like to 

die. 
But of ye damosels that sat around Kyng Arthure's 

table 
He liked not her that sometime ben ron over by ye 

cable, 



142 A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 

Ye which full evil hap had harmed and marked her 

person so 
That in a passing wittie jest he dubbeth her ye crow. 

But all ye oders of ye girls did please him passing 

well 
And they did own him for to be a proper seeming 

swell ; 
And in especial Gurnevere esteemed him wondrous 

faire, 
Which had made Arthure and his friend, Sir 

Launcelot, to sware 
But that they both ben so far gone with posset, 

wine, and beer, 
They colde not see ye carrying-on, nor neither 

colde not heare ; 
For of eche liquor Arthure quaff t, and so did all 

ye rest. 
Save only and excepting that smooth straunger 

from the West. - 
When as these oders drank a toast, he let them 

have their fun 
With divers godless mixings, but he stock to 

willow run. 



A PROPER TREIVE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 143 

Ye which (and all that reade these words sholde 
profit by ye warning) 

Doth never make ye head to feel like it ben 
swelled next morning. 

Now, wit ye well, it so befell that when the night 
grew dim, 

Ye Kyng was carried from ye hall with a howl- 
ing jag on him, 

Whiles Launcelot and all ye rest that to his 
highness toadied 

Withdrew them from ye banquet hall and sought 
their couches loaded. 

Now, lithe and listen, lordings all, whiles I do 

call it shame 
That, making cheer with wine and beer, men do 

abuse ye same; 
Though eche be well enow alone, ye mixing of 

ye two 
Ben soche a piece of foolishness as only ejiots do. 
Ye wine is plaisaunt bibbing whenas ye gentles dine, 
And beer will do if one hath not ye wherewithal 

for wine. 
But in ye drinking of ye same ye wise are never 

floored 



144 A PROPER TREIVE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 

By taking what ye tipplers call too big a jag on 

board. 
Right hejeous is it for to see soche dronkonness 

of wine 
Whereby some men are use to make themselves 

to be like swine; 
And sorely it repenteth them, for when they wake 

next day 
Ye fearful paynes they suffer ben soche as none 

mought say, 
And soche ye brenning in ye throat and brasting 

of ye head 
And soche ye taste within ye mouth like one 

had been on dead, — 
Soche be ye foul condicions that these unhappy 

men 
Sware they will never drink no drop of nony 

drinke again. 
Yet all so frail and vain a thing and weak 

withal is man 
That he goeth on an oder tear whenever that he 

can. 
And like ye evil quatern or ye hills that skirt 

ye skies. 
Ye jag is reproductive and jags on jags arise. 



A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 1 45 

Whenas Aurora from ye east in dewy splendor 

hied 
King Arthure dreemed he saw a snaix and ben 

on fire inside, 
And waking from this hejeous dreeme he sate 

him up in bed, — 
" What, ho ! an absynthe cocktail, knave ! and 

make it strong ! " he said ; 
Then, looking down beside him, lo ! his lady was 

not there — 
He called, he searched, but, Goddis wounds ! he 

found her nonywhere; 
And whiles he searched. Sir Maligraunce rashed 

in, wood wroth, and cried, 
" Methinketh that ye straunger knyght hath snuck 

away my bride ! 
And whiles he spake a motley score of other 

knyghts brast in 
And filled ye royall chamber with a mickle fear- 
full din, 
For evereche one had lost his wiffe nor colde 

not spye ye same. 
Nor colde not spye ye straunger knyght, Sir 

Fivefeetten of name. 



146 A PROPER TREWE IDYLL OF CAME LOT. 

Oh, then and there was grevious lamentacion all 

arounde, 
For nony dame nor damosel in Caraelot ben 

found, — 
Gone, like ye forest leaves that speed afore ye 

autumn wind. 
Of all ye ladies of that court not one ben left 

behind 
Save only that same damosel ye straunger called 

ye crow, 
And she allowed with moche regret she ben too 

lame to go ; 
And when that she had wept full sore, to Arthure 

she confess'd 
That Guernevere had left this word for Arthure 

and ye rest: 
"Tell them," she quod, "we shall return to them 

whenas we 've made 
This little deal we have with ye Chicago Bourde 

of Trade." 



BERANGER'S ''MA VOCATION." 147 



BfiRANGER'S "MA VOCATION.' 

IWr ISERY is my lot, 

Poverty and pain ; 
111 was I begot, 

111 must I remain ; 
Yet the wretched days 

One sweet comfort bring, 
When God whispering says, 

" Sing, O singer, sing ! " 

Chariots rumble by, 

Splashing me with mud ; 
Insolence see I 

Fawn to royal blood ; 
Solace have I then 

From each galling sting 
In that voice again, — 

" Sing, O singer, sing ! " 



148 BERANGER'S ''MA VOCATION ^ 

Cowardly at heart, 

I am forced to play 
A degraded part 

For its paltry pay ; 
Freedom is a prize 

For no starving thing ; 
Yet that small voice cries, 

" Sing, O singer, sing ! " 

I was young, but now. 

When I 'm old and gray, 
Love — I know not how 

Or why — hath sped away ; 
Still, in winter days 

As in hours of spring, 
Still a whisper says, 

" Sing, O singer, sing ! " 

Ah, too well I know 

Song 's my only friend ! 
Patiently I '11 go 

Singing to the end ; 
Comrades, to your wine ! 

Let your glasses ring ! 
Lo, that voice divine 

Whispers, " Sing, oh, sing ! " 



CHILD AND MOTHER. 1 49 



CHILD AND MOTHER. 

r\ MOTHER-MY-LOVE, if you '11 give me 
^■^^ your hand, 

And go where I ask you to wander, 
I will lead you away to a beautiful land, — 

The Dreamland that 's waiting out yonder. 
We '11 walk in a sweet posie-garden out there, 

Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, 
And the flowers and the birds are filling the air 

With the fragrance and music of dreaming. 

There '11 be no little tired-out boy to undress, 

No questions or cares to perplex you, 
There '11 be no little bruises or bumps to caress, 

Nor patching of stockings to vex you ; 
For I '11 rock you away on a silver-dew stream 

And sing you asleep when you 're weary, 
And no one shall know of our beautiful dream 

But you and your own little dearie. 



150 CHILD AND MOTHER. 

And when I am tired I '11 nestle my head 

In the bosom that 's soothed me so often, 
And the wide-awake stars shall sing, in my stead, 

A song which our dreaming shall soften. 
So, Mother-my-Love. let me take your dear hand, 

And away through the starlight we '11 wander, - 
Away through the mist to the beautiful land, — 

The Dreamland that 's waiting out yonder. 



THE CON VERS AZZHYONY. 15I 



THE CONVERSAZZHYONY. 

"XT THAT conversazzhyonies wuz I really did not 

know, 
For that, you must remember, wuz a powerful spell 

ago; 
The camp wuz new 'nd noisy, 'nd only modrit sized, 
So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly crystallized. 
There had n't been no grand events to interest the 

men, 
But a lynchin', or a inquest, or a jackpot now an' 

then. 
The wimmin-folks wuz mighty scarce, for wimmin', 

ez a rool. 
Don't go to Colorado much, excep' for teachin' 

school. 
An' bein' scarce an' chipper and pretty (like as not), 
The bachelors perpose, 'nd air accepted on the 

spot. 



152 THE CONFERS AZZHYONY. 

Now Sorry Tom wuz owner uv the Gosh-all-Hem- 

lock mine, 
The wich allowed his better haff to dress all-fired 

fine; 
For Sorry Tom wuz mighty proud uv her, an' she 

uv him. 
Though she wuz short an* tacky, an' he wuz tall an' 

slim. 
An' she wuz edjicated, an' Sorry Tom wuz not, 
Yet, for her sake, he 'd whack up every cussid cent 

he 'd got ! 
Waal, jest by way uv celebratin' matrimonial joys. 
She thought she 'd give a conversazzhyony to the 

boys, — 
A peert an' likely lady, 'nd ez full uv 'cute idees 
'Nd uv etiquettish notions ez a fyste is full uv 

fleas. 

Three-fingered Hoover kind uv kicked, an' said 

they might be durned 
So fur ez any conversazzhyony wuz concerned ; 
He ^d come to Red Hoss Mountain to tunnel for 

the ore. 
An' not to go to parties, — quite another kind uv 

bore ! 



THE CONVERSAZZHYONY. 153 

But, bein' he wuz candidate for marshal uv the 

camp, 
I rayther had the upper hohs in arguin' with the 

scamp ; 
Sez I, "Three-fingered Hoover, can't ye see it is 

yer game 
To go for all the votes ye kin an' collar uv the 

same ? " 
The wich perceivin', Hoover sez, " Waal, ef I must^ 

I ?mist ; 
So I '11 frequent that conversazzhyony, ef I 

bust!" 

Three-fingered Hoover wuz a trump ! Ez fine a 

man wuz he 
Ez ever caused an inquest or blossomed on a 

tree ! — 
A big, broad man, whose face bespoke a honest 

heart within, — 
With a bunch uv yaller whiskers appertainin' to 

his chin, 
'Nd a fierce mustache turnt up so fur that both his 

ears wuz hid. 
Like the picture that you always see in the " Life 

uv Cap'n Kidd." 



154 THE CONVERSAZZHYONY. 

His hair wuz long an' wavy an' fine ez Southdown 

fleece, — 
Oh, it shone an' smelt like Eden when he slicked 

it down with grease ! 
I '11 bet there wuz n't anywhere a man, all round, ez 

fine 
Ez wuz Three-fingered Hoover in the spring uv '69 ! 

The conversazzhyony wuz a notable affair, 

The bong tong deckolett 'nd en regaly bein' there-. 

The ranch where Sorry Tom hung out wuz fitted 

up immense, — 
The Denver papers called it a "palashal resi- 
dence." 
There wuz mountain pines an' fern an' flowers 

a-hangin' on the walls, 
An' cheers an' hoss-hair sofies wuz a-settin' in the 

halls ; 
An' there wuz heaps uv pictures uv folks that lived 

down East, 
Sech ez poets an' perfessers, an' last, but not the 

least, 
Wuz a chromo uv old Fremont, — we liked that 

best, you bet. 
For there 's lots uv us old miners that is votin' for 

him yet ! 



THE CONVERSAZZHYONY. I55 

When Sorry Tom received the gang perHtely at the 

door, 
He said that keerds would be allowed upon the 

second floor ; 
And then he asked us would we like a drop uv ody 

vee. 
Connivin' at his meanin', we responded promptly, 

"Wee." 
A conversazzhyony is a thing where people 

speak 
The langwidge in the which they air partickulerly 

weak : 
" I see," sez Sorry Tom, " you grasp what that 'ere 

lingo means." 
" You bet yer boots," sez Hoover; " I 've lived at 

Noo Orleens, 
An', though I aint no Frenchie, nor kin unto the 

same, 
I kin parly voo, an' git there, too, like Eli, toot lee 

mame ! " 

As speakin' French wuz not my forte, — not even 

oovry poo, — 
I stuck to keerds ez played by them ez did not 

parly voo, 



156 THE CONVERSAZZHYONY. 

An' bein' how that poker wuz my most perficient 

game, 
I poneyed up for 20 blues an' set into the same. 
Three-fingered Hoover stayed behind an' parly- 

vood so well 
That all the kramy delly krame allowed he wuz 

the belle. 
The other candidate for marshal did n't have a 

show ; 
For, while Three-fingered Hoover parlyed, ez they 

said, tray bow, 
Bill Goslin did n't know enough uv French to git 

along, 
'Nd I reckon that he had what folks might call a 

movy tong. 

From Denver they had freighted up a real pianny- 

fort 
Uv the warty-leg and pearl-around-the-keys-an'- 

kivver sort. 
An', later in the evenin', Perfesser Vere de Blaw 
Performed on that pianny, with considerble eclaw, 
Sech high-toned opry airs ez one is apt to hear, 

you know, 
When he rounds up down to Denver at a Emmy 

Abbitt show; 



THE CONVERSAZZHYONY. 157 

An' Barber Jim (a talented but ornery galoot) 
Discoursed a obligatter, conny mory, on the floot, 
'Til we, ez sot upstairs indulgin' in a quiet game, 
Conveyed to Barber Jim our wish to compromise 
the same. 

The maynoo that wuz spread that night wuz mighty 

hard to beat, — 
Though somewhat awkward to pernounce, it wuz 

not so to eat : 
There wuz puddins, pies, an' sandwidges, an' forty 

kinds uv sass. 
An' floatin' Irelands, custards, tarts, an' patty dee 

foy grass ; 
An' millions uv cove oysters wuz a-settin' round in 

pans, 
'Nd other native fruits an' things that grow out 

West in cans. 
But I wuz all kufflummuxed when Hoover said 

he'd choose 
*' Oon peety morso, see voo play, de la cette Char- 
lotte Rooze ; " 
I 'd knowed Three-fingered Hoover for fifteen years 

or more, 
'Nd I 'd never heern him speak so light uv wimmia 

folks before ! 



158 THE CON VERS AZZHYONY. 

Bill Goslin heern him say it, 'nd uv course he 

spread the news 
Uv how Three-fingered Hoover had insulted Char- 
lotte Rooze 
At the conversazzhyony down at Sorry Tom's that 

night, 
An' when they asked me, I allowed that Bill for 

once wuz right ; 
Although it broke my heart to see my friend go 

up the fluke, 
We all opined his treatment uv the girl deserved 

rebuke. 
It warnt no use for Sorry Tom to nail it for a 

lie,— 
When it come to sassin' wimmin, there wuz blood 

in every eye ; 
The boom for Charlotte Rooze swep' on an' took 

the polls by storm, 
An' so Three-fingered Hoover fell a martyr to 

reform ! 

Three-fingered Hoover said it wuz a terrible mis- 
take. 

An' when the votes wuz in, he cried ez if his heart 
would break. 



THE CONVERSAZZHVONY. 15 9 

We never knew who Charlotte wuz, but Goslin's 

brother Dick 
Allowed she wuz the teacher from the camp on 

Roarin' Crick, 
That had come to pass some foreign tongue with 

them uv our alite 
Ez wu*z at the high-toned party down at Sorry 

Tom's that night. 
We let it drop — this matter uv the lady — there 

an' then, 
An' we never heerd, nor wanted to, of Charlotte 

Rooze again, 
An' the Colorado wimmin-folks, ez like ez not, 

don't know 
How we vindicated all their sex a twenty year 

ago. 

For in these wondrous twenty years has come a 

mighty change. 
An' most uv them old pioneers have gone acrosst 

the range, 
Way out into the silver land beyond the peaks uv 

snow, — 
The land uv rest an' sunshine, where all good 

miners go. 



l6o THE CON VERS AZZHYONY. 

I reckon that they love to look, from out the silver 

haze, 
Upon that God's own country where they spent 

sech happy days; 
Upon the noble cities that have risen since they 

went; 
Upon the camps an' ranches that are prosperous 

an' content; 
An', best uv all, upon those hills that reach into 

the air, 
Ez if to clasp the loved ones that are waitin' over 

there. 



PROF. VERE DE BLAIV. 1 6 



PROF. VERE DE BLAW. 

A CHIEVIN' sech distinction with his moddel 

tabble dote 
Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a 

place uv note, 
Our old friend Casey innovated somewhat round 

the place, 
In hopes he would ameliorate the sufferins uv the 

race; 
'Nd uv the many features Casey managed to im- 
port 
The most important wuz a Steenway gran' pianny- 

fort, 
An' bein' there wuz nobody could play upon the 

same. 
He telegraffed to Denver, 'nd a real perfesser 

came, — 

II 



1 62 PROF. VERB DE BLAW. 

The last an' crownin' glory uv the Casey res- 

tauraw 
Wuz that tenderfoot musicianer, Perfesser Vere de 

Blaw! 

His hair wuz long an' dishybill, an' he had a yaller 

skin, 
An' the absence uv a collar made his neck look 

powerful thin : 
A sorry man he wuz to see, az mebby you 'd sur- 
mise, 
But the fire uv inspiration wuz a-blazin' in his 

eyes ! 
His name wuz Blanc, wich same is Blaw (for that 's 

what Casey said, 
An' Casey passed the French ez well ez any 

Frenchie bred); 
But no one ever reckoned that it really wuz his 

name, 
An' no one ever asked him how or why or whence 

he came, — 
Your ancient history is a thing the Coloradan 

hates, 
An' no one asks another what his name wuz in the 

States ! 



PROF. VERE DE BLA IV. 1 63 

At evenin', when the work wuz done, an' the miners 

rounded up 
At Casey's, to indulge in keerds or linger with the 

cup. 
Or dally with the tabble dote in all its native 

glory, 
Perfesser Vere de Blaw discoursed his music reper- 
tory 
Upon the Steenway gran' piannyfort, the wich wuz 

sot 
In the hallway near the kitchen (a warm but quiet 

spot), 
An' when De Blaw's environments induced the 

proper pride, — 
Wich gen'rally wuz whiskey straight, with seltzer 

on the side, — 
He throwed his soulful bein' into opry airs 'nd 

things 
Wich bounded to the ceilin' hke he 'd mesmerized 

the strings. 

Oh, you that live in cities where the gran' piannies 

grow. 
An* primy donnies round up, it's little that you 

know 



164 PROF. VERB DE BLAW. 

Uv the hungerin' an' the yearnin' wich us miners 

an' the rest 
Feel for the songs we used to hear before we 

moved out West. 
Yes, memory is a pleasant thing, but it weakens 

mighty quick ; 
It kind uv dries an' withers, like the windin' moun- 
tain crick. 
That, beautiful, an' singin' songs, goes dancin' to 

the plains, 
So long ez it is fed by snows an' watered by the 

rains ; 
But, uv that grace uv luvin' rains 'nd mountain 

snows bereft, 
Its bleachin' rocks, like dummy ghosts, is all its 

memory left. 

The toons wich the perfesser would perform with 

sech eclaw 
Would melt the toughest mountain gentleman I 

ever saw, — 
Sech touchin' opry music ez the Trovytory 

sort, 
The solium " Mizer Reery," an' the thrillin' " Keely 

Mort : " 



PROF. VERB DE BLAIV. 1 65 

Or, sometimes, from " Lee Grond Dooshess " a 
trifle he would play, 

Or morsoze from a opry boof, to drive dull care 
away; 

Or, feelin' kind uv serious, he 'd discourse some- 
what in C, — 

The wich he called a opus (whatever that may 
be); 

But the toons that fetched the likker from the 
critics in the crowd 

Wuz not the high-toned ones, Perfesser Vere de 
Blaw allowed. 

'Twuz "Dearest May," an' "Bonnie Doon," an' 

the ballard uv "Ben Bolt," 
Ez wuz regarded by all odds ez Vere de Blaw's 

best holt; 
Then there wuz " Darlin' Nellie Gray," an' " Settin' 

on the Stile," 
An' " Seein' Nellie Home," an' " Nancy Lee," 'nd 

"Annie Lisle," 
An' " Silver Threads among the Gold," an' " The 

Gal that Winked at Me," 
An' " Gentle Annie," " Nancy Till," an' " The Cot 

beside the Sea." 



1 66 PROF. VERB DE BLAW. 

Your opry airs is good enough for them ez likes 

to pay 
Their money for the truck ez can't be got no other 

way; 
But opry to a miner is a thin an' holler thing, — 
The music that he pines for is the songs he used 

to sing. 

One evenin' down at Casey's De Blaw wuz at his 
best, 

With four-fingers uv old Wilier-run concealed be- 
neath his vest ; 

The boys wuz settin' all around, discussin' folks 
an' things, 

'Nd I had drawed the necessary keerds to fill on 
kings ; 

Three-fingered Hoover kind uv leaned acrosst the 
bar to say 

If Casey 'd liquidate right off, he ''d liquidate next 
day; 

A sperrit uv contentment wuz a-broodin' all around 

(Onlike the other sperrits wich in restauraws 
abound). 

When, suddenly, we heerd from yonder kitchen- 
entry rise 



PROF. VERB DE BLA IV. 1 6 7 

» ___^^__ 

A toon each ornery galoot appeared to recognize. 
Perfesser Vere de Blaw for once eschewed his 

opry ways, 
An' the remnants uv his mind went back to earlier, 

happier days. 
An' grappled like an' wrassled with a old familiar 

air 
The wich we all uv us had heern, ez you have, 

everywhere ! 
Stock still we stopped, — some in their talk uv 

politics an' things, 
I in my unobtrusive attempt to fill on kings, 
'Nd Hoover leanin' on the bar, an' Casey at the 

till, — 
We all stopped short an' held our breaths (ez a 

feller sometimes will). 
An' sot there more like bumps on logs than healthy, 

husky men, 
Ez the memories uv that old, old toon come sneakin' 

back again. 

You 've guessed it ? No, you have n't ; for it wuz n't 
that there song 

Uv the home we 'd been av/ay from an' had hank- 
ered for so long, — 



1 68 PROF. VERE DE BLAW. 

No, sir ; it wuz n't " Home, Sweet Home," though 

it 's always heard around 
Sech neighborhoods in wich the home that is "sweet 

home " is found. 
And, ez for me, I seemed to see the past come back 

again, 
And hear the deep-drawed sigh my sister Lucy ut- 
tered when 
Her mother asked her if she 'd practised her two 

hours that day, 
Wich, if she hadn't, she must go an' do it right 

away ! 
The homestead in the States 'nd all its memories 

seemed to come 
A-floatin' round about me with that magic lumty- 

tum. 

And then uprose a stranger wich had struck the 

camp that night ; 
His eyes wuz sot an' fireless, 'nd his face wuz spook- 

ish white, 
'Nd he sez : " Oh, how I suffer there is nobody kin 

say, 
Onless, like me, he 's wrenched himself from home 

an' friends away 



PROF. VERE DE BLAW. 1 69 

To seek surcease from sorrer in a fur, seclooded 

spot, 
Only to find — alars, too late ! — the wich surcease 

is not ! 
Only to find that there air things that, somehow, 

seem to live 
For nothin' in the world but jest the misery they 

give! 
I 've travelled eighteen hundred miles, but that toon 

has got here first ; 
I'm done, — I'm blowed, — I welcome death, an' 

bid it do its worst ! " 

Then, like a man whose mind wuz sot on yieldin' 
to his fate. 

He waltzed up to the counter an' demanded whis- 
key straight, 

Wich havin' got outside uv, — both the likker and 
the door, — 

We never seen that stranger in the bloom uv health 
no more ! 

But some months later, what the birds had left uv 
him wuz found 

Associated with a tree, some distance from the 
ground ; 



lyo PROF. VERE DE BLAIV, 

And Husky Sam, the coroner, that set upon him, 

said 
That two things wuz apparent, namely : first, de- 

ceast wuz dead ; 
And, second, previously had got involved beyond 

all hope 
In a knotty complication with a yard or two uv 

rope ! 



MEDIMVAL EVENTIDE SONG. I?^ 



MEDIEVAL EVENTIDE SONG. 

/^OME hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my 

^^^ breast to-night, 

For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt 

white, 
And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells may, 
And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh 

farre awaye. 

To them that have no lyttel childe Godde some- 
times sendeth down 

A lyttel childe that ben a lyttel lambkyn of his owne ; 

And if so bee they love that childe, He willeth it 
to staye. 

But elsewise, in His mercie He taketh it awaye. 

And sometimes, though they love it, Godde yearn- 
eth for ye childe, 

And sendeth angells singing, whereby it ben be- 
guiled ; 



172 MEDIEVAL EVENTIDE SONG. 

They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth 

at his play, 
And beare him to ye garden that bloometh farrs 

awaye. 

I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde hath 

lent to me ; 
If I colde sing that angell songe, how joysome I 

sholde bee ! 
For, with mine arms about him, and my musick in 

his eare, 
What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I 

feare ? 

Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast 

to-night. 
For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white, 
And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells may. 
And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre 

awaye. 



MARTHY'S VO UN-KIT. I 73 



MARTHY'S YOUNKIT. 

np'HE mountain brook sung lonesomelike, and 

loitered on its way 
Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play; 
The wild-flowers uv the hillside bent down their 

heads to hear 
The music uv the little feet that had somehow 

grown so dear; 
The magpies, like winged sh adders, wuz a-flutterin' 

to an' fro 
Among the rocks an' holler stumps in the ragged 

gulch below ; 
The pines an' hemlocks tosst their boughs (like 

they wuz arms) and made 
Soft, solium music on the slope where he had 

often played ; 
But for these lonesome, solium voices on the moun- 
tain-side, 
There wuz no sound the summer day that Marthy's 

younkit died. 



174 MARTHY'S YOUNKIT. 

We called him Marthy's younkit, for Marthy wuz 

the name 
Uv her ez wuz his mar, the wife uv Sorry Tom, — 

the same 
Ez taught the school-house on the hill, way back 

in '69, 
When she marr'd Sorry Tom, wich owned the 

Gosh-all-Hemlock mine ! 
And Marthy's younkit wuz their first, wich, bein' 

how it meant 
The first on Red Hoss Mountain, wuz truly a 

event ! 
The miners sawed off short on work ez soon ez 

they got word 
That Dock Devine allowed to Casey what had 

just occurred ; 
We loaded up an' whooped around until we all 

wuz hoarse 
Salutin' the arrival, wich weighed ten pounds, uv 

course ! 

Three years, and sech a pretty child ! — his mother's 

counterpart ! 
Three years, and sech a holt ez he had got on every 

heart ! — 



MARTHY'S YOUNKIT. I 75 

A peert an' likely little tyke with hair ez red ez 

gold, 
A laughin', toddlin' everywhere, — 'nd only three 

years old ! 
Up yonder, sometimes, to the store, an' sometimes 

down the hill 
He kited (boys is boys, you know, — you couldn't 

keep him still !) 
An' there he 'd play beside the brook where purpul 

wild-flowers grew, 
An' the mountain pines an' hemlocks a kindly shad- 

der threw, 
An' sung soft, solium toons to him, while in the 

gulch below 
The magpies, like strange sperrits, went flutterin' 

to an' fro. 

Three years, an' then the fever come, — it wuz n't 

right, you know, 
With all us old ones in the camp, for that little 

child to go ; 
It 's right the old should die, but that a harmless 

litde child 
Should miss the joy uv life an' love, — that can't 

be reconciled! 



176 MARTHV'S YOUNKIT. 

That 's what we thought that summer day, an' that 

is what we said 
Ez we looked upon the piteous face uv Marthy's 

younkit dead. 
But for his mother's sobbin', the house wuz very 

still, 
An' Sorry Tom wuz lookin', through the winder, 

down the hill. 
To the patch beneath the hemlocks where his dar- 

lin' used to play, 
An' the mountain brook sung lonesomelike an' 

loitered on its way. 

A preacher come from Roarin' Crick to comfort 

'em an' pray, 
'Nd all the camp wuz present at the obsequies 

next day ; 
A female teacher staged it twenty miles to sing a 

hymn, 
An' we jined her in the chorus, — big, husky men 

an' grim 
Sung "Jesus, Lover uv my Soul," an' then the 

preacher prayed. 
An' preacht a sermon on the death uv that fair 

blossom laid 



MARTHY'S YOUNKIT. I 77 

Among them other flowers he loved, — wich ser- 
mon set sech weight 

On sinners bein' always heeled against the future 
state, 

That, though it had been fashionable to swear a 
perfec' streak. 

There warnt no swearin' in the camp for pretty 
nigh a week ! 

Last thing uv all, four strappin' men took up the 

little load 
An' bore it tenderly along the windin', rocky 

road, 
To where the coroner had dug a grave beside the 

brook, 
In sight uv Marthy's winder, where the same could 

set an' look 
An' wonder if his cradle in that green patch, long 

an' wide, 
Wuz ez sooth in' ez the cradle that wuz empty at 

her side ; 
An' wonder if the mournful songs the pines wuz 

singin' then 
Wuz ez tender ez the lullabies she'd never sing 

again, 

12 



I7S MARTHY'S YOUNKIT. 

'Nd if the bosom uv the earth in wich he lay at 

rest 
Wuz half ez lovin' 'nd ez warm ez wuz his mother's 

breast. 

The camp is gone; but Red Hoss Mountain rears 
its kindly head, 

An' looks down, sort uv tenderly, upon its cher- 
ished dead ; 

'Nd I reckon that, through all the years, that little 
boy wich died 

Sleeps sweetly an' contentedly upon the mountain- 
side ; 

That the wild-flowers uv the summer-time bend 
down their heads to hear 

The footfall uv a little friend they know not slum- 
bers near; 

That the magpies on the solium rocks strange 
flutterin' shadders make. 

An' the pines an' hemlocks wonder that the sleeper 
does n't wake ; 

That the mountain brook sings lonesomelike an 
loiters on its way 

Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play. 



IN FLANDERS. 1 79 



IN FLANDERS. 



'T^HROUGH sleet and fogs to the saline bogs 

Where the herring fish meanders, 
An army sped, and then, 't is said, 
Swore terribly in Flanders : 



t'» 



A hideous store of oaths they swore. 
Did the army over in Flanders ! 

At this distant day we 're unable to say 

What so aroused their danders ; 
But it 's doubtless the case, to their lasting disgrace, 

That the army swore in Flanders : 



And many more such oaths they swore, 
Did that impious horde in Flanders ! 



l8o IN FLANDERS. 



Some folks contend that these oaths without end 

Began among the commanders, 
That, taking this cue, the subordinates, too, 

Swore terribly in Flanders : 

'T was " ! " 

a t »' 



Why, the air was blue with the hullaballoo 
Of those wicked men in Flanders ! 

But some suppose that the trouble arose 

With a certain Corporal Sanders, 
Who sought to abuse the wooden shoes 
That the natives wore in Flanders. 

Saying: " !" 

it f " 



What marvel then, that the other men 
Felt encouraged to swear in Flanders ! 

At any rate, as I grieve to state, 

Since these soldiers vented their danders 
Conjectures obtain that for language profane 

There is no such place as Flanders. 



This is the kind of talk you '11 find 
If ever you go to Flanders. 



IN FLANDERS. lol 

How wretched is he, wherever he be, 

That unto this habit panders ! 
And how glad am I that my interests lie 

In Chicago, and not in Flanders ! 

U f It 



Would never go down in this circumspect town 
However it might in Flanders. 



l82 



OUR BIGGEST FISH. 



OUR BIGGEST FISH. 

TXTHEN in the halcyon days of eld, I was a 
^ ^ little tyke, 
I used to fish in pickerel ponds for minnows and 

the like ; 
And oh, the bitter sadness with which my soul 

was fraught 
When I rambled home at nightfall with the puny 

string I 'd caught ! 
And, oh, the indignation and the valor I 'd display 
When I claimed that all the biggest fish I 'd caught 

had got away ! 

Sometimes it was the rusty hooks, sometimes the 

fragile lines. 
And many times the treacherous reeds would foil 

my just designs ; 
But whether hooks or lines or reeds were actually 

to blame 
I kept right on at losing all the monsters just the 

same — 



OUR BIGGEST FISH. I 83 

I never lost a liiile fish — yes, I am free to say- 
It always was the biggest fish I caught that got 
away. 

And so it was, when later on, I felt ambition 
pass 

From callow minnow joys to nobler greed for pike 
and bass ; 

I found it quite convenient, when the beauties 
would n't bite 

And I returned all bootless from the watery chase 
at night, 

To feign a cheery aspect and recount in accents 
gay 

How the biggest fish that I had caught had some- 
how got away. 

And really, fish look bigger than they are before 
they're caught — 

When the pole is bent into a bow and the slender 
line is taut, 

When a fellow feels his heart rise up like a dough- 
nut in his throat 

And he lunges in a frenzy up and down the leaky 
boat! 



184 OUR BIGGEST FISH. 

Oh, you who 've been a-fishing will indorse me 

when I say- 
That it always is the biggest fish you catch that 

gets away ! 

'Tis even so in other things — yes, in our greedy 
eyes 

The biggest boon is some elusive, never-captured 
prize ; 

We angle for the honors and the sweets of human 
life — 

Like fishermen we brave the seas that roll in end- 
less strife; 

And then at last, when all is done and we are spent 
and gray, 

We own the biggest fish we've caught are those 
that got away. 

I would not have it otherwise; 'tis better there 

should be 
Much bigger fish than I have caught a-swimming 

in the sea ; 
For now some worthier one than I may angle for 

that game — 



OUR BIGGEST FISH. 1 85 

May by his arts entice, entrap, and comprehend 

the same ; 
Which, having done, perchance he '11 bless the man 

who 's proud to say 
That the biggest fish he ever caught were those 

that got away. 



1 8 6 THIR TV-NINE. 



THIRTY-NINE. 

r\ HAPLESS day! O wretched day! 
^^ I hoped you 'd pass me by — 
Alas, the years have sneaked away 

And all is changed but I ! 
Had I the power, I would remand 

You to a gloom condign, 
But here you 've crept upon me and 
I — I am thirty-nine ! 

Now, were I thirty-five, I could 

Assume a flippant guise ; 
Or, were I forty years, I should 

Undoubtedly look wise ; 
For forty years are said to bring 

Sedateness superfine ; 
But thirty-nine don't mean a thing—' 

A bas with thirty-nine ! 



THIRTY-NINE. 



187 



You healthy, hulking girls and boys, — 

What makes you grow so fast ? 
Oh, I '11 survive your lusty noise — 

I 'm tough and bound to last ! 
No, no — I 'm old and withered too — 

I feel my powers decline, 
(Yet none believes this can be true 

Of one at thirty-nine). 

And you, dear girl with velvet eyes, 

I wonder what you mean 
Through all our keen anxieties 

By keeping sweet sixteen. 
With your dear love to warm my heart, 

Wretch were I to repine ; 
I was but jesting at the start — 

I 'm glad I 'm thirty-nine ! 

So, little children, roar and race 

As blithely as you can. 
And, sweetheart, let your tender grace 

Exalt the Day and Man ; 
For then these factors (I '11 engage) 

All subtly shall combine 
To make both juvenile and sage 

The one who 's thirty-nine ! 



1 88 THIRTY-NINE, 



Yes, after all, I 'm free to say 

I would much rather be 
Standing as I do stand to-day, 

'Twixt devil and deep sea ; 
For though my face be dark with care 

Or with a grimace shine, 
Each haply falls unto my share. 

For I am thirty-nine ! 

'T is passing meet to make good cheer 

And lord it like a king, 
Since only once we catch the year 

That does n't mean a thing. 
O happy day ! O gracious day ! 

I pledge thee in this wine — 
Come, let us journey on our way 

A year, good Thirty-Nine ! 

Sept. 2, 1889. 



VrVTOT. 189 



YVYTOT. 

pyHERE wail the waters in their flow 
A spectre wanders to and fro. 
And evermore that ghostly shore 
Bemoans the heir of Yvytot. 

Sometimes^ when, like a fleecy pall, 
The mists upon the waters fall, 

Across the maitt float shadows twain 
That do not heed the spectre* s call. 

The king his son of Yvytot 
Stood once and saw the waters go 

Boiling around with hissing sound 
The sullen phantom rocks below. 

And suddenly he saw a face 

Lift from that black and seething place — 

Lift up and gaze in mute amaze 
And tenderly a little space, 



190 vvvTor. 



A mighty cry of love made he — 
No answering word to him gave she, 

But looked, and then sunk back again 
Into the dark and depthless sea. 

And ever afterward that face, 
That he beheld such little space, 

Like wraith would rise within his eyes 
And in his heart find biding place. 

So oft from castle hall he crept 

Where mid the rocks grim shadows slept, 

And where the mist reached down and kissed 
The waters as they wailed and wept. 

The king it was of Yvytot 
That vaunted, many years ago. 

There was no coast his valiant host 
Had not subdued with spear and bow. 

For once to him the sea-king cried : 
" In safety all thy ships shall ride 

An thou but swear thy princely heir 
Shall take my daughter to his bride. 



yvvTOT. 191 



" And lo, these winds that rove the sea 
Unto our pact shall witness be, 

And of the oath which binds us both 
Shall be the judge 'twixt me and thee! " 

Then swore the king of Yvytot 
Unto the sea-king years ago, 

And with great cheer for many a year 
His ships went harrying to and fro. 

Unto this mighty king his throne 
Was born a prince, and one alone — 

Fairer than he in form and blee 
And knightly grace was never known. 

But once he saw a maiden face 
Lift from a haunted ocean place — 
Lift up and gaze in mute amaze 
And tenderly a little space. 

Wroth was the king of Yvytot, 
For that his son would never go 

Sailing the sea, but liefer be 
Where wailed the waters in their flow, 



192 YVVrOT 



Where winds in clamorous anger swept, 
Where to and fro grim shadows crept, 

And where the mist reached down and kissed 
The waters as they wailed and wept. 

So sped the years, till came a day 
The haughty king was old and gray, 
And in his hold were spoils untold 
That he had wrenched from Norroway. 

Then once again the sea-king cried : 
" Thy ships have harried far and wide ; 

My part is done — now let thy son 
Require my daughter to his bride ! " 

Loud laughed the king of Yvytot, 
And by his soul he bade him no — 
" I heed no more what oath I swore, 
For I was mad to bargain so ! " 

Then spake the sea-king in his wrath : 
" Thy ships lie broken in my path ! 

Go now and wring thy hands, false king ! 
Nor ship nor heir thy kingdom hath ! 



YVvroT. 193 



" And thou shalt wander evermore 
All up and down this ghostly shore, 

And call in vain upon the twain 
That keep what oalh a dastard swore 1 " 

The king his son of Yvytot 
Stood even then where to and fro 

The breakers swelled — and there beheld 
A maiden face lift from below 

" Be thou or truth or dream," he cried, 
" Or spirit of the restless tide, 

It booteth not to me, God wot ! 
But I would have thee to my bride." 

Then spake the maiden: " Come with me 
Unto a palace in the sea, 

For there my sire in kingly ire 
Requires thy king his oath of thee ! " 

Gayly he fared him down the sands 

And took the maiden's outstretched hands ; 

And so went they upon their way 
To do the sea-king his commands. 



194 YVVTOT. 



The winds went riding to and fro 

And scourged the waves that crouched below, 

And bade them sing to a childless king 
The bridal song of Yvytot. 

So fell the curse upon that shore, 
And hopeless waihng evermore 

Was the righteous dole of the craven soul 
That heeded not what oath he swore. 

An hundred ships went down that day 
All off the coast of Norroway, 

And the ruthless sea made mighty glee 
Over the spoil that drifting lay. 

The winds went calling far and wide 
To the dead that tossed in the mocking tide : 
" Come forth, ye slaves ! from your fleeting graves 
And drink a health to your prince his bride ! " 

Where wail the waters in their fiow 
A spectre wanders to and fro, 

But never jnore that ghostly shore 
Shall claim the heir of Yvytot. 



YVVTOT. 195 



So7netimeSy when, like ajleecy pall^ 
The mists upon the waters fall, 

Across the main flit shadows twain 
That do not heed the spectre'' s call. 



196 LONG AGO. 



LONG AGO. 



T ONCE knew all the birds that came 

And nested in our orchard trees ; 
For every flower I had a name — 

My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees ; 
I knew where thrived in yonder glen 

What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe — 
Oh, I was very learned then ; 

But that was very long ago ! 



I knew the spot upon the hill 

Where checkerberries could be found, 
I knew the rushes near the mill 

Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound ! 
I knew the wood, — the very tree 

Where lived the poaching, saucy crow. 
And all the woods and crows knew me — 

But that was very long ago. 



LONG AGO. 197 



And pining for the joys of youth, 

I tread the old familiar spot 
Only to learn this solemn truth : 

I have forgotten, am forgot. 
Yet here 's this youngster at my knee 

Knows all the things I used to know ; 
To think I once was wise as he — 

But that was very long ago. 

I know it 's folly to complain 

Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree ; 
Yet were not wishes all in vain, 

I tell you what my wish should be : 
I 'd wish to be a boy again. 

Back with the friends I used to know ; 
For I was, oh ! so happy then — 

But that was very long ago ! 



198 ro A SGUBRETTE. 



TO A SOUBRETTE. 



"y IS years, soubrette, since last we met; 

And yet — ah, yet, how swift and tender 
My thoughts go back in time's dull track 

To you, sweet pink of female gender ! 
I shall not say — though others may — 

That time all human joy enhances ; 
But the same old thrill comes to me still 

With memories of your songs and dances. 



Soubrettish ways these latter days 

Invite my praise, but never get it ; 
I still am true to yours and you — 

My record 's made, I '11 not upset it ! 
The pranks they play, the things they say — 

I 'd blush to put the like on paper, 
And I '11 avow they don't know how 

To dance, so awkwardly they caper ! 



TO A SOUBRETTE. 1 99 



I used to sit down in the pit 

And see you flit like elf or fairy 
Across the stage, and I '11 engage 

No moonbeam sprite were half so airy ; 
Lo, everywhere about me there 

Were rivals reeking with pomatum, 
And if, perchance, they caught your glanc( 

In song or dance, how did I hate 'em ! 

At half-past ten came rapture — then 

Of all those men was I most happy, 
For bottled beer and royal cheer 

And tete-a-tetes were on the tapis. 
Do you forget, my fair soubrette, 

Those suppers at the Cafd Rector, — 
The cosey nook where we partook 

Of sweeter cheer than fabled nectar ? 

Oh, happy days, when youth's wild ways 

Knew every phase of harmless folly ! 
Oh, blissful nights, whose fierce delights 

Defied gaunt-featured Melancholy ! 
Gone are they all beyond recall. 

And I — a shade, a mere reflection — 
Am forced to feed my spirits' greed 

Upon tlie husks of retrospection ! 



200 TO A SOUBRETTE. 

And lo ! to-night, the phantom light, 

That, as a sprite, flits on the fender. 
Reveals a face whose girlish grace 

Brings back the feeling, warm and tender : 
And, all the while, the old- time smile 

Plays on my visage, grim and wrinkled, — 
As though, soubrette, your footfalls yet 

Upon my rusty heart-strings tinkled ! 



SOME TIME. 20 3 



SOME TIME. 



T AST night, my darling, as you slept, 

I thought I heard you sigh, 
And to your little crib I crept, 

And watched a space thereby ; 
And then I stooped and kissed your brow, 

For oh ! I love you so — 
You are too young to know it now, 

But some time you shall know ! 



Some time when, in a darkened place 

Where others come to weep. 
Your eyes shall look upon a face 

Calm in eternal sleep, 
The voiceless lips, the wrinkled browj 

The patient smile shall show — 
You are too young to know it now, 

But some time you may know ! 



^ 



702 SOME TIME. 



Look backward, then, into the years, 

And see me here to-night — 
See, O my darling ! how my tears 

Are falling as I write ; 
And feel once more upon your brow 

The kiss of long ago — 
You are too young to know it now, 

But some time you shall know. 



THE END. 



Lb 013 



